Michael:
“Luna, where are you going with all those flowers?”
“To the kitchen.”
“Please don’t put them in the oven again, okay?”
“Why not?”
“Luna...”
“I won’t turn them on broil again.”
*glare*
“And I won’t forget about them again this time, either.”
“No!”
“Dammit! You’re no fun.”
“Go back outside.”
“Well at least let me put them in a vase.”
“Fine.”
“So I can put them on a burner.”
“Luna, get out!”
“Dammit! Fine.”
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