Jennifer shows up with a pizza box and a bag of Fritos. She frowns when Chris opens the door for her. “They were out of Cheetos. I almost slapped the cashier when he told me.” Chris gives her a sheepish grin.
Before she enters, he puts his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, so, uh, don’t freak out, but . . . Gwyneth is here. She’s in the other room. She’s actually—” He eyes her pizza box. “She’s, uh, making an organic pizza, with cheese she made from the milk of Deepak Chopra’s goats.” He frowns. “You actually, probably, should just toss your box outside before you come in.”
Jennifer shakes her head. “This is insane. Why is she always here? I am not in the mood to eat her weird smelly flaxseed-and-chard sad excuse of a pizza. I am going to go back into my car and eat this cheesy, gooey pizza pie topped with Fritos—yes, I am going to top this with Fritos—and you can decide what you want to eat, Mr. Christopher Martin.”
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