We're preparing our dollhouse of an apartment for the final inspection.
Upon glueing back the useless towel rack on the wall (the two of us had to stand pressed against it, extremely close to each other, for fifteen consecutive minutes)...
Mousse *clearing throat*: So when's your birthday? Sunday?
Marty: Yeah.
Mousse: Shit. I'm so totally going to ignore that.
Marty: No! Won't you at least give me a call?
Mousse: I don't think so.
Marty: I hate you.
Back to cleaning, packing, glueing, fighting, eating, shopping... Laters.
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