When last we saw them, George and Robyn were tiptoeing along the "l" word that she'd haphazardly flung his way. George dodged it and kept plundering forward. A few weeks later, he hinted that it was simmering. Will Robyn get matzo ball soup? Let's find out...
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"I'm thinking up lines for my Easter Erotica poem," Robyn giggled. She and George snuggled in front of his big-screen TV. "Things like, 'Let's commit an original sin,'" she giggled some more.
"Don't do it."
"Come on, it's funny. Original sin!" George sounded serious, but she couldn't believe it.
"Don't do it. It's a small Christian town. That could ruin your reputation, if someone at Open Mic records you."
"Are you kidding? It's no big deal. It's funny! Nobody's going to be offended by that."
They volleyed some more, George insistent, and Robyn, not one to be controlled. In fact, when bossed around, she's inclined to rebel. But she really liked and even loved George, so she recited her Easter Erotica at Open Mic when George was out of town. Meanwhile, resentment broiled; George had served censorship and no soup as of yet. They'd been dating for five months and three days. [She was counting.]
"It doesn't feel right that you told me not to read my poetry. I want a boyfriend who supports my creativity," she argued by phone one night. "Plus, it was fine. They liked the poem."
"They probably didn't understand the innuendos," George countered. "Anyway, it doesn't change how I feel about you. I didn't want you to--"
"Wait! How you feel...How do you feel about me, George?"
"What do I think?" No, how do you feel? I thought. But yeah, whatever. Just serve me some f*n matzo balls. "I think I'm in love with you and I think that you're a good friend and that you're smart and pret--"
"Wait. You said you love me?!"
His voice lightened. "Yeah. But that doesn't mean that--"
"No need to argue anymore, sweetie. I'm good. My baby loves me. Woohoo!"
George chuckled.
----Could the soup get messier? Would it get messier? Stay tuned.
