How We'll Get To Know Each Other.

"That's the best sound," I say, nodding in the direction of Mr. Coffee, as he calls the court to order.
"Mmm-hmm!"

But I've changed my mind.
You don't have to agree with me this time.

Because the coffee is brewing in the kitchen, and you're singing in my shower.

Now, that's the best sound.

***

("Is it raining?")
("I'll check. It's pouring!")
("That's just fine.")
("But how will you get home?")
("Oh! With - ")

(For the record, I've never had to suppress the impulse to recite Shakespeare, mostly because I've never had the impulse to recite Shakespeare. But you looked so sweet and so concerned and so unmistakably lovely that, upon taking your hands in mine, all I could think to say was, "With love's light wings will I o'er-perch these walls...of...uh...rain...")

(They say that you're only permitted to bastardize Shakespeare when you're hopelessly, foolishly, despicably in love.)

(That's not true!)
(That's not what "they" say!)
(That's what I say!)
(What I said!)
(Just now!)
(When I made it up!)

(I'm such a liar.)

(Thank God I'm charming, right?)