She has these chairs that look dusty as fuck and I tell her, “These are filthy,” to which she replies, “They’re my favorite chairs,” after which I propose buying new chairs and receive an eye stabbing the likes of which I haven’t received from a woman in a long, long time. I join her on the mattress with the dip in the middle and apologize for making fun of her favorite chairs. I tell her to lie down with me for a while. We don’t say much else, but secretly I think of scenarios to get her to dump them or clean them because, Christ, they are some really fuckin’ dirty chairs.