In the Stillness of the Night

"Don't be tempted to dip your toes in the water," Sheila advised Ian. "It not only provides for great ambience but an abundant source of germs as well."

Ian's thoughts wandered as was almost customary. He figured that it could have been ten years ago and he could have been faced with the very same situation, except that the water would have been cleaner then. Well, he didn't always dip his toes in the water. No, that is not analogous to getting caught with your fingers in the cookie jar. It's just that Ian figured that his idea of fun, his conversational tendecies, and sadly, his financial capacity has remained the same over the supposedly defining ten-year span.

"But who cares?" he thought. He was, after all, still oozing with undeniable machismo and possessing some rock hard...ideals, not to mention cultivating a detached imagination.

Then Ian asked himself, "Why stop at ten years? What if my view of things has in fact remained the same for over 20 years?!"

At that point, Sheila, a woman, decided that she will not allow that many digressions from someone other than herself, even if these are just thoughts. She was almost at mild panic when she estimated that she hasn't nearly fulfilled her 7,000 words per day quota.

It was, however, too romantic a moment (mosquito breeding water and all) to be disrupted with too many words. So under her breath she muttered, "blah blah blah," hoping that she could get away with about a thousand of these in the next few minutes.

Finally deciding to verbally react, Ian replied in a not so subtle manner, "Can I dip myself into you instead?" Just then he thought about cheese factories and how they must hire 1,000 men such as him to deliver 'cheesy' lines in an assembly line fashion.

"Blah blah blah...that makes 200", Sheila continued.