"I don't get it. He wrote a song called 'Yellow.' And everything is yellow. This is yellow, that is yellow. I don't think he's in love. I think he has malaria."
She stuck her tongue out at me. "I think you're a curmudgeon."
"You know I'm a curmudgeon. It's one of my skills."
She started dancing in place, shaking her beautiful Muse-rump back and forth. "I wouldn't necessarily call it a skill. More like a character flaw."
"My hate keeps me warm, Muse."
She stroked my forearm. "And your skin is so soft and silky. Just like a baby's ass." She spiraled away from me before I could poke her. "If we could just do something about that grumpiness, you'd be all set."
"Bite me," I said. "And then bite me again for good measure."
"I would, darlin', but you'd like it too much."
"'Your skin unfolds,'" I quoted. "Now he's a serial killer, and he's gonna wear her skin. 'It puts the lotion on its skin.'"
"You're such a romantic."
"Thank you. I knew you cared."