Lois came in and saw my look of confusion. “This is so weird,” I said. “And awkward.”

“It’s only awkward if we make it awkward,” she told me.

In romantic comedies someone holds off telling something important,
and it screws up everything.

You watch the film, and find yourself shouting, “Just say it! Just tell her!”
but they don’t. It’s always “the wrong time.”

Lois laughed. “Did you ever read No Exit by Sartre?
It starts off like this -- a guy ends up in Hell,
and the first thing he asks for is a toothbrush.”

“Um, I don’t feel like I’ve landed in Hell,” I told her.
“I hope you don’t feel that way.”

“Is there really cake?” I asked.