She: “And you’ll be glad to know that, while you were showering and dressing for the conference that you’re driving to this morning, I got your breakfast ready for you.”
He: “Great. Because by the time I get there, I’m going to be hungry. I don’t need much, though …”
She: “I know. Just something to get you going. Juice and a malasada.”
He: “Um, thank you, these things are tasty and filling enough to let me survive the drive …”
She: “But what?”
He: “Funny you should mention that butt. I know I’m an expanding man, and this should help things along nicely. Sigh. How have I failed you?”
She: “Failed you?”
He: “Or is this your way of telling me that you’re worried about this conference I’m going to? Yes, it’s a science conference, and yes, it’s got this telescope protest stuff hanging over its head, but things aren’t that bad yet! At least I hope not! And I can’t afford to show up there all gloomy.”
She: “Because I’m feeding you something mal and sad?”
He: “Yes! Don’t peeps make bonagladas for days like this, when it’s important to start off with a sunny disposition?”
She: “Hush your mouth!! You trying to get us arrested?”
He: “[…] whut?”
She: “Sweetheart! The rush of euphoria from eating a bonaglada has killed people! Especially pessimists, who panic. I, ah, don’t wish to cast any aspersions on your character, but I do not want to lose you! These things are so dangerous, the pushers of ecstasy want nothing to do with them. The DEA and FDA don’t even want bonagladas on their schedules, for fear of drawing attention to them!”
He: “So how come we still get to have malasadas, then?”
She: “Easy. They’re sweet and tasty. Their downer effects don’t do anything more to pessimists than what the pessimists have already done to themselves, and the optimists just ignore them.”
He: “Uh huh. Babe, I love you – but aren’t these tales just a little half-baked?”
She: “Well! Are we talking about mal-asadas or aren’t we?”
