“What’s That?” I asked

“What do you think it is?“ She replied.

Have you got someone in your family or circle of friends who answers questions with questions? I asked a simple one the other night. Not a philosophical hoop. Not a trap. Not an invitation to spar.

“What’s that?” I asked.

It was a dessert. A small pastry from a buffet with custard on it. Something unfamiliar. I asked because I didn’t know what was inside the pie. That’s how questions work.

The reply came back as a question: “What do you think it is?”

I felt the irritation creep up immediately. Not because I wanted an argument, but because the exchange had quietly stopped making sense.

If I knew what it was, I wouldn’t have asked.

What bothered me wasn’t the absence of information—it was the absence of cooperation. There was no humour in it. No smile, no lightness, no shared moment. Just a deflection. And when her friend asked the same thing and got the same answer, it confirmed it wasn’t playful. It was automatic.

We’ve all encountered this. You ask a direct question and get bounced. Not as banter. Not as curiosity. Just… avoidance.

There’s something oddly dismissive about it. As if the question itself was illegitimate or not worthy of action. The conversation stalls. Nothing moves forward. You’re left standing there holding a question that now feels faintly stupid for having been asked.

And yes, I know this sounds small. Trivial. A pastry, for God’s sake.

But irritation doesn’t come from the size of the moment. It comes from the breach of the social contract. Ask, answer. Don’t know? Say so. That’s still an answer.

So I wonder—do you get irritated by deflections like this too? By questions that dodge instead of respond, without offering warmth or wit to soften the dodge?

And if you do—do you think that’s wrong?

Or is it simply a reasonable reaction to a moment where cooperation quietly exited the room?

–Michael (Dark fiction. Author of SEETHINGS (the first book), free for a limited time)

p.s. Fruit mince pie, if you’re wondering!