“Trey, this is really good toast.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I practically love it,” Lori said.

“Interestingly enough,” Trey said, “the other day I read a story about a guy who fell in love with his toaster.”

“Yikes! Was this a true story?”

“As far as I know,” Trey said. “Maybe it happens more often than one might think.”

“Did the toaster have a name?” Lori asked.

“I believe it was Eleanor.”

“So did they get married or anything?”

“Good question.”

“And, um, did he like fuck Eleanor?”

“Ha ha, that would be hot, wouldn’t it?”

“Assuming everything was properly plugged in and all,” Lori said.

“Right,” Trey agreed. “Well, I can tell you that one time the guy toasted a bagel. A poppyseed bagel. And Eleanor got pregnant.”

“Oh Trey, now I know you’re joking.”

“Would I joke about something like that?”

“Of course you would. But it occurs to me...”

“What?”

“Well, you made me this lovely toast, so that makes you my toaster, does it not?”

“Harder now. Deeper. Oh yeah! Oh Trey! Oh Trey! Oh fuck!”

“Lori, do you think maybe we should think about having kids.”

“Yeah. Twins would be good. Poppy and Sesame.”