“Oh, the eyebrow thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I guess I am. And I do happen to be holding this glove that I’ve just placed on my hand, too.”

“Beast.”

“OK, whatever. Come on then, up with your skirt. And spread that blanket a little wider. I don’t know how I’m supposed to bend my elbow so my forearm gets all the way past your knees without us being seen.”

“The same way you did it on our second date, of course. Fifteen years ago today.”

“Doesn’t seem like it’s been that long, has it?”

“Aaaaaaaa. Mmm. With your finger touching me there, the time just flies. In fact, it just seems to come unstuck. Stop asking me questions, m’kay, Roosie?”

“Well, I don’t think I can ever stop asking you questions. Ceaseless callbacks, iterations of inquiry. There’s a Prince lyric: ‘So what is the answer/To the question of you?’ Except, you know, he does that thing with the ‘u’ for ‘you” and the ‘2’ for ‘to.’ I always hated that, didn’t you?”

Silence.