Mrs. Warr and I were finishing our supper, a nice bowl of chili. I got up to get a cuppa. She said, "Could you get me a soda, please?"
I reached into the cabinet, set the bicarbonate box next to her bowl on the table. I said, "You'll want a glass of water to take that with?"
I was being totally sincere and trying to assist her digestive process. She accused me of being a smart-aleck. "You knew," she stated inaccurately and incorrectly, "that I wanted a root beer."
She did not ask for a root beer. She asked for what she got: soda.
[Small differences in cultural backgrounds make huge differences in communication. I have never referred to pop as "soda." And conversely, . . . ]