y husband and I have an ongoing summer “argument.” It's unavoidable, mostly because the heat just gets to me. An afternoon drive soon ignites a sizzling conversation.

"It's boiling hot!" I lament, tugging frantically on my shirt to create a mini-breeze.

My husband the engineer immediately brings correction. "It's not boiling hot," he astutely informs me. "Boiling is 212 degrees at normal atmospheric pressures. If it were 212 degrees, we'd all be dead."

"Honey,” I sigh, “It's hyperbole ... an exaggeration for the sake of emphasis, not to be taken literally." (My 10th grade English teacher would be so proud.)

He laughs but refuses to be sidetracked. "It's still not boiling."

Our car’s digital outdoor thermometer registers a stifling 99 degrees. Pointing towards it, I ask, "Exactly how hot does it have to be for you to admit it's boiling hot?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. At least 100."

Together we glance at the thermometer and watch in astonishment as the outside temperature suddenly spikes to an eye-popping 101 degrees. We both burst into laughter. I feel hilariously vindicated, as if God is saying, "Give your wife a break ... it is boiling hot."

Hands on my hips, I turn toward my husband, grinning. "Well?"

"OK, OK. It's hot out. But it's not boiling." Engineers are such sticklers for minor details.

Although our conversation was all in fun, it illustrates the differing communication styles between men and women. The friction created in a casual dialogue between spouses can really produce some heat if we’re not careful.

Does the heat of miscommunication in marriage just get to you sometimes, too? When the temperature spikes, learning to laugh together eases tension. Somehow it’s easier to respect and appreciate our differences while we’re smiling. And when we allow God to have the final say, potential word-embers vanish like smoke.

Editor's note: Our "Just For Women" columns reflect the perspectives and experiences of the writer.