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[Trying to cook, and failing miserably.]

[He catches that one, too.] So it's only going to be my subconsious anyway? They'll probably all be mortally horrified and look the other way.

Or if it's mine you will draw the crowds.

And then I'll be jealous of my own projections.

...Frued would be fascinated.

I don't think it'd be all that fascinating. I mean, I'm sure my subconscious would populate a beach with... Attractive... Beach types. Who would naturally all flock to you in their busty, leggy, tanned glory.

[Arthur will never tell Ariadne the type of women he picked up in bars and hotels.] Who'd flock to me because you think I have a nice ass.

[He doesn't have to.] Yep. And then what would I do? My projections would be way hotter than me, no contest.

Ariadne. They certainly wouldn't have your assertiveness. [He glances around the empty restuarant and then at her. Taking out his wallet, he puts it on the table and stands up, taking her hand.]

[She laughs, pressing her forehead affectionately against his shoulder as she lets him pull her up.] My apartment has probably aired out by now.

[He hadn't been considering that; even the waiter seems to have deserted the room.] Maybe. [But he's pulling her toward the bathrooms.]

[She stifles more laughter and allows him to lead the way; she can watch his ass better from this angle anyway.]

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