with bells on

Already pretty drained from a weekend banging away at a paper, and with another one due Wednesday, I’m tucking myself into bed with the laptop and a stack of books for another night of work. The Fella steps into the other room, preparing to listen to this evening’s baseball game. Before he closes the door, he makes a characteristically kind offer.

The Fella: And if you need anything, like a drink, you just call me.
Elsa: [mock-bellows his name, then…] Yeah, I don’t think so, honey. I can get my own water, or —
The Fella: No, really! Or just whip something at the door, I’ll come running. Do you want a shoe?
Elsa: So I can whip it at the door?
The Fella: Yeah. Or a glass or a — do you want a bell? I’ll get you a whole collection, a ceramic bell collection —
Elsa: So I can whip ’em at the door!

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