Don't Go There. Just Please, Don't Go There.

(NOTE: Based on time elapsed since the posting of this entry, the BS-o-meter calculates this is 4.824% likely to be something that Ferrett now regrets.)

(THE SCENE: Having gotten out of a lovely but exhausting convention, my friend Raven and I go out for fried chicken on the morning after, as is tradition.)
ME: Oh, God, this mac and cheese is brilliant.  It’s gonna kill my heart, but it’s worth dying for.
RAVEN: Ferrett, no! You have to live until Star Wars!  If you die on my watch, Gini is never gonna forgive me!
ME: All right, fine. I guess I’ll live until Star Wars.
(A few minutes later, when I snatch a bite of food off her plate:)
RAVEN (raises fork): Do not make me stab you in the throat with this fork.
ME, loftily: Too late! You’ve shown your hand. You’ve told me you don’t dare harm me, lest Gini harm you!  You have to protect me!
RAVEN: …and what are the odds that Gini sanctions me injuring you after I’ve explained what you did?
ME: Don’t use that logic. It’s a very bad logic.
 

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