She: “Help!”
He: “With what?”
She: “I need to find something about David!”
He: “Sorry. Too late.”
She: “Too late? Since when?”
He: “Since after sundown. About four hours ago now.”
She: “What does that have to do with it?”
He: “Just, like, everything.”
She: “Are you being difficult on purpose?”
He: “Do you see an aquarium in here large enough to hold a porpoise? Even if one would let me ride it? Look. It’s simplicity itself. You said you were looking for something about David.”
She: “Yes. I was.”
He: “Well. It’s night now. For David, you need light to see by. Says so right there. Day. Vid. So you’re just going to have to wait until tomorrow, after dawn.”
She: “Why, thank you, love. I won’t have to take out zombie insurance after all.”
He: “Zombie …”
She: “When they come to the house, all I have to do is push you to the door. ‘See? No brains here!‘ I couldn’t buy better protection!”
Oh my love, so not true — YOU were the zombie by the time we had the David conversation. You were stumbling through the house with your eyes half open chanting “Bed, bed, bed,” not “brains, brains, brains.”
Never let the bed get in the way of a good story, Q. You oughta know.