“Why are you still in here?”
“It’s nice in here.”
“It’s the garage. And you’re sitting on a milk-crate.”
” I put a towel on it so my arse isn’t criss-crossed with pressure sores.”
” I put a towel on it so my arse isn’t criss-crossed with pressure sores.”
“Why are you still mooning over that Ducati?”
“You don’t understand. I’m not wasting my time trying to explain it to you.”
“It has no pillion seat.”
“And rightly so.”
“So no pillion.”
“Never. And you’d be safe in the knowledge your husband is not a cheating whore.”
“So you’re sitting in the garage not being a cheating whore.”
“Can you dance on tables?”
“You know I can. And you know I’m not going to just so you can buy the Ducati. Sulking won’t change that.”
“Listen to me. At 5000 rpm it’s doing 120.”
“So?”
“It redlines at 14750!”
“So?”
“What do you mean ‘So’? When did your soul die? Do you have any idea how fast this thing is?”
“Sounds like when you were trying to explain the off-side rule to me. I don’t care how fast it is just like I don’t care why there is suddenly a free kick.”
“Is there anything you like about it?”
“It’s a very nice red colour. How long are you going to sit out here and drink beer?”
“As long as it takes.”
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