"I absolutely agree! It's not my job to struggle through their godawful prose, write a better fucking novel and I'll read every word," he grinned, just adoring her attitude, that she didn't buy into the reverential attitude towards literature. Ernest sighed, and dropped his head into his hands for a second, apparently exasperated by censorship. "You know, I tried to go through and take the language out, and it left it reading as stilted and forced," he told her, as he lifted his head again. "I'm more interested in the way people actually talk, and swearing is a vibrant, colourful, and important part of our dialogue, not something to deliberately clean up," he told her, quite disappointed that hadn't changed yet. "I went round writing the words back in by hand," he admitted, after a second.
He thanked her again as she served him some dinner, and then scrunched his nose back at her. "Oh, God, I don't know that I want to be exposed to that," he admitted, with a bit of a laugh. "I'll catch up on everything worthwhile first, and then if I ever run out of things on that list, I'll give it a go," he joked, before starting to eat. And he wasn't disappointed.
"Please, that whole movie was a fucking disaster. You know what they said? We have laundered out the writer's pessimission, and replaced it with a testament to eternal love," he rolled his eyes, and sighed. "If they haven't got the struggle and the hardship, it's just a couple of privileged kids falling in love. The point is the fight for it," he told her, although he knew that she would get that.
"Go on, then," he told her. "Tell me a wild story, shock and scandalise me," he teased. "This is lovely, by the way," he added, about the dinner.