Mari shrugged uncertainly. "You never know about those Canadians," she said with a shake of the head. She took another sip of water and thought about this intriguing crayon moral dilemma. After a moment, she nodded. "Yes, I see where you're going with this. Physical wounds heal. Being hit in the head with a crayon damages you far deeper than can be healed with all the healing powers of the earth." And suddenly, she felt as if the colors of the wind were going to wander on in through the doors with Pocahontas not far behind.
Mari had to chew on her lip to keep from saying anything silly. She was, by this time, blushing madly and couldn't for the life of her look him in the eye. "Thanks. I somehow don't think it would be that difficult even for me to pick up a guy here. Most of the guys here," she raised two fingers at him this time, "will see twelve of these and probably slobber their names at me while trying to inhale more chips than the Taco Bell chihuahua."