She’s so negative. Everything’s like don’t do this don’t do that. She just doesn’t understand me. So what if I don’t like pants? They chafe.

The door opens and she walks in and says, Sorry. He covers up; he has never been unhappier. They stare at each other. So now what? she asks.

I went for a massage, I told her. Not that kind of massage, I said when she gave me a look. No for real, I insisted. It’s like this everyday.

She charms me with her shyness. You should see her when she drinks, I’m told. So I buy her a drink. And another. And later, she laughs at me.