Scene: Morrison and I on a date night, at our local bar. I'm wearing a dress made out of workout pants and I'm really feeling myself. I head to the bar to order another round. The dude next to me clocks me, then sort of looks around to see if I'm alone, then, in retrospect, very neutrally says:
Dude: Nice dress.
Me: THANK YOU. IT'S A WORKOUT DRESS.
Dude: looks nice on you.
Me: THANK YOU.
I turn and face Morrison, literally saunter back to him, eyebrows bouncing like they're on a trampoline. I'm suddenly the hottest woman that's ever lived.
Me: DID YOU SEE THAT? THAT MAN JUST HIT ON ME.
Morrison: ...Yeah, I saw it.
Me: A MAN JUST HIT ON YOUR WIFE, IN FRONT OF YOU
Morrison: ....I think he was just telling you it's a nice dress, because it is.
Me: I'M HOT
Morrison:...Yes.
Me: BUT SHOULD YOU FIGHT HIM?
Morrison:......
We head off to dinner. My head barely fits through the door.
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