"We're not talking about you or me, sister. We're talking about Tony and the night, that horrible rainy night, when he took a fall. You were there, weren't you? Waiting. You thought that when everybody left you could reason with him. Get him to give you the pictures.

"But it didn't work out that way, did it? Naw. He baited you, even laughed. And when he turned his back on you to face the fireplace and take his drink off the mantle, you pulled out your gun. That's how it happened, isn't it, sweetheart?

"He turned back around, and you filled him full of lead and left him lying there for the maid to find the next morning. Tell me when I'm getting warm."

"I didn't mean to do it," she blubbered. "I just … "

"You just what?" I said. "Shot him?"

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Oops. Sorry. Got carried away there.

Where were we? Oh, yeah. Clossinay.

Actually, it's spelled cloisonné. I know because I just asked Jessica.

Cloisonné [kloi-zuh-nay], noun: enamelware in which colored areas are separated by thin metal bands, a.k.a. a type of earring that Jim thought Jessica liked (or would like - a crucial distinction) and therefore got her a bunch of for their first Christmas. But Jim was wrong, or, depending on whom you ­believe, sort of wrong, but, either way, her version or his, Jim never bought any again.

I suppose I should give you the two versions.

Mine: She would love cloisonné earrings, so they'd be perfect as a Christmas gift.

Hers: I like cloisonné earrings just fine, but I don't want a million pairs of them, which is the approximate number Jim got me for Christmas.

Mine: The problem wasn't the number. The problem was the earrings themselves. I saw the disappointment on your face when you opened the box.