“So, naturally, the next choice was a minivan.”
“Yep, she called to me from the parking lot of abandoned cars. The sun was shining through her windows like a beacon of hope.”
Chubs groaned. “Why are you so weird?”
“Because my weird has to be able to cancel out your weird, Lady Cross-stitch.”
“At least what I do is considered an art form,” Chubs said.
“Yes, in ye olde medieval Europe you would’ve been quite the catch—”