“Well, Michael is incapable of making anything up,” Mary agreed after taking a sip, “so I guess I have to believe you. But… wow, gnomes.” How did garden gnomes exist and she’d never seen one? “I did know a woman in the 70s who thought Red Caps were trying to kill her. Maybe she was onto something...”
“Yeah! You know - it’s so trippy how much of life is like, real, and how much of life is a weird imitation of an acid trip. But hey, someone out there believes in gnomes so-” Much flourished his hand across the table/condiment Parsonage, “-we have gnomes. Horny, possessive gnomes right in my backyard.” He shook his head and took a drink - coughing into it in his haste to add. “Not a euphemism!”
Mary leaned a little across the table and raised one eyebrow at him. “Is that a euphemism you regularly use?” she asked, tone very sweet, almost innocent as though she had no idea.
Much didn’t believe this tone for a second - he’d met her before - but he leaned in as well, though he was too amused to maintain the same innocent look she was faking. “On special occasions only,” he said with a grin.
“It’s good to have special occasion terminology,” Mary agreed, sitting back but keeping her eyes locked on his, her smile easy and open. (Just like Mary was.) “So what happened after you tried to flirt with the gnome’s wife?”