He put on my apron before starting to chop the veggies.

“You look good in pink,” I complimented him.

“I look good in every color,” he replies.

Chop. Chop. Chop.

Scribble.

Veggies are sauteed and the steak gets dumped into the hot pan.

“The sounds of a thousand screaming souls,” he states, referring to the sizzling steak.

Sizzle.  Sizzle. Sizzle.

Scribble.

“Are you writing down everything that I say?”

I sure am.  It’s March!

Scribble.