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Isabeau was a good guess, but no.

I was a jerk by asking what would have been a perfectly innocent question 35 years ago, about a topic that is no longer moot. I was also a jerk for asking a totally unnecessary and rude question.

Almost verbatim, 9:15± p.m., October 29, 2014, MSM in her bathroom, SM in living room.

MSM: Are you going to mail anything tomorrow?: SM: I don’t plan to. You need me to mail something for you?
MSM: No.: SM: You need stamps?
MSM: No.
[Thinking]: SM: Need an errand run somewhere around the post office?
MSM: No.: SM: [said sincerely, but with ominous hint of where this will go] Well, what is it you wanna know or want me to do?
MSM: Nothing. I was just curious.
[Silence. SM is frustrated. He's played this game, but he's never played the following card.]: SM: Are you going shopping tomorrow for some red knee-high socks? [said far too cheerfully]
[Referee starts to pull yellow card, decides to leave it in his pocket. Boxing ref admonishes "below the belt."]
MSM: What? No. [Pause] What was that for?: SM: I was just curious. [said too manner of factly]
[Yellow card! My name goes in the referee’s book. Football referee throws flag. Fifteen yards, personal foul, unnecessary roughness.]
[Silence.]: SM: I’m sorry. But I know how you think. You wanted to ask something or find out something when you asked about mail. What do you want to ask? [said sincerely]
[Silence]
MSM: Well . . . if you don’t have to go to the post office . . . I was wondering if you could mop the kitchen floor and clean the girls’ tub tomorrow. [partly because she never wants to inconvenience anyone, but primarily because: 50% genetic material from one side of her family, as that side will endearingly laugh about].: SM: Yeah. Sure. I can do both.
[Pause - Knowing not to ask the next question because I’ve asked similar questions countless times over 30+ years and always received the same angry and true answer, so as the words come out of my mouth I realize I have committed a serious breach of marital etiquette and respect . . . but the words start coming out of my mouth): SM: Why didn’t you . . . [no. don't go there. danger will robinson] . . . just ask me [no. all thrusters in reverse, but I can't find the off switch for my mouth] . . . if I would mop the kitchen floor and clean the girls’ tub tomorrow? [said sincerely but with a noticeable skootch of topic-specific experienced peevishness]
[The referee doesn’t hesitate. Red card!!!! No argument.. I begin walking off the pitch and toward MSM's bathroom.]
MSM: Because my brain doesn’t work like that!! [anger, tears].
[Sincere apologies and hugs]. I feel this tall, as I should.]
Ultimate result: Doghouse. Tub cleaned last night and kitchen floor mopped by 7:45 this morning. Will be cooking a special dinner for tonight.

Wow, that’s complicated and indirect even by my standards.

On the other hand, Pat just asked, apropos of nothing, “Is there anywhere else you plan to go today?” I’m sure his real point could be figured out, if anyone cared to make the effort ...

Oh man!
That really was straight out of that old text adventure!
“A cold voice says ‘plough’ and all goes dark.”
Lucky you survived that (mis)adventure.

Admittedly, my missus asks around things in a similar fashion.
You’d think she was dealing with the devil, as if asking outright would forfeit her soul to me.

I’m not that terrible, am I?
*he says, wispy smokes of darkness trail off his frame, as if the very shadow is indeed himself personified*