Disingenuous: or How my Goat was Got...

Disingenuous: not candid or sincere, typically by pretending that one knows less about something than one really does.

I wrote in my sidebar that I have good friends with whom I disagree on just about everything. If we have been friends for decades, we can choose to leave certain subjects out of the conversation, or choose not to butt heads if the other person brings it up. We can also decide to engage in a spirited disagreement and still be friends afterwards, as long as we each respect that the other has a right to an opposing point of view. (Even if it borders on Magical Thinking and/or Conspiracy Theory).
The friendship brakes go on, however, if you start texting me on Thanksgiving Morning, knowing full-well that I plan a peaceful day to myself.
The day before Thanksgiving, we had a long phone conversation, chatting about all sorts of things. I recounted my evasive tactics; otherwise known as a non-diplomatic "Hell No" response to the invitation to certain family members' festive gathering; which closely followed their recent exchange of divorce papers and would include the feral grandchildren I have previously described.
My friend invited me to her Thanksgiving get-together, which was kind; although she'd already told me that she'd forgotten to defrost the turkey in time and knew that it wouldn't be ready. This friend always kindly offers to drive me to the airport. I know her well. I would never expect her to be in the right place at the right time. She'd have a great excuse. It would always be someone else's fault. It would drive me crazy. I reiterated my desire for a day to myself and thanked her for her offer, but declined.
No surprise that "she who never plans ahead" would text me Thanksgiving morning to ask to borrow extra chairs. My heart sank, as something as simple as that could develop into a wasted day of failed logistics and end in a flurry of sorry, sorry, sorry. I replied that my plastic garden chairs were available but that they were not folding chairs.
An hour later, a text popped up "Do you think your chairs will fit in the trunk of my car?"
She and I both know that a Porsche is not likely to have room for furniture in the trunk, or anywhere else for that matter. What I was really reading was her disingenuous approach to provoking an offer from me to bring her the darn chairs. My goat was got!
"Were you not listening when I told you I wanted to be left alone?" was my query back to her. 
Someone must have stolen her phone. I know she would have gotten back to me otherwise.