My roommate and his girlfriend came down the stairs—he turned and headed into the kitchen and she came and sat on the sofa adjacent to me. My roommate reemerged, asking her if she was ready to go to the movie.
“Oh, what show are you going to see?” I asked as he turned and left the room again.
His girlfriend answered, “We don’t know.”
“So, how can you be late?” I puzzled.
“I don’t know, “ she said. “He’s driving me crazy.”
My roommate reentered the room just in time to hear the last of her comment.
“What did you say?” he asked her.
“I said, ‘You look great, baby.’” she replied. I giggled uncertainly.
Then he turned to me. “No, what did she say?” he asked. I shrugged.
His girlfriend brushed past him on her way to the back door and he came and leaned close to my ear. “What did she say?” he whispered.
“I’m not getting in the middle of this.” I answered.
“You’re already in the middle of this,” he said, raising his voice.
“No, I’m not.” I stood up. “I’m just an innocent bystander,” I clarified as I raised my hands in the international gesture of surrender and walked away. “I’m going upstairs, into my room, where I’ll be safe.”