MW: Hi! How have you been? I know I'm late getting back together with you....but, um, the traffic was hell. Really. Hell. Brutal hell.
MW: What? Are you giving me the cold shoulder? I told you it would take a while before I'd get back to you. I mean, I have other responsibilities.
AN: Oh? And what am I? Chopped liver?
MW: Well, at the moment...I mean, let's be honest, you've looked better.
AN: And how the hell would you know how I look?! Silence. Nothing but cold dark silence between us for months! You never call, you never....write!
MW: I know, I know...
AN: You know I'm not going to be around forever, don't you? I have a shelf life. I have big plans....I could be a series of essays! Even a book!
MW: Now, now - let's not go overboard here...
AN: I am cutting edge, baby. I'm so sharp you can't even see me! I'm going to change the face of medieval studies! Kneel before me, supplicant. Kiss my boots...
MW: (*under breath*) Note to self: when you leave your article notes alone for too long they get delusions of grandeur.
AN: You're not bowing low enough. And where's my offering? I'll accept a pan of brownies - nothing less.
MW: Look, I realize I'm to blame for all of this - I really did leave you in a vacuum and...
AN: No shit. And one of your damn cats threw up a hair ball on me.
MW: Yeah, I saw that - I'll need to re-copy that page.
AN: (*makes rude gesture*)
MW: Okay, enough of the hostility! I tell you what, I'll take you to Sonic and get you dinner.
AN: Really? With tater tots?
MW: Whatever you want.
AN: And a strawberry vanilla diet coke?
MW: Sky's the limit. And we can cruise there with the windows down and play our El DeBarge tape.
AN: Well...okay. But I need to start getting some better treatment around here or I'm gonna spontaneously combust. I mean it...
MW: Yeah, yeah...research immolation is a bitch...