debate

Sisters, on celebrity.

Cecily: You’re building quite a fan base.

Delilah: Excellent. Wait. What? Amongst who? Satanists?

Cecily: Everyone. Your darkness is a lovely foil to Cecily’s sparkling naïveté.

Delilah: Wonderful. But how do you know?

Cecily: People write me and tell me.

Delilah: Interesting. I guess without this face, the darkness becomes a lot easier to accept. How are they regarding Alexander?

Cecily: They’re either Team Cecily or Team Alexander.

Delilah: I never expected your writing to get ‘teamed’.

Cecily: I am polarizing.

Delilah: Yes. But I assumed fans of your prose would deride any hint of group identification.

Two sisters, on the box office.

Cecily: I may be in love. I need your advice.

Delilah: Well, there are about six million romantic comedies you could consult that have more knowledge on the subject than I.

Cecily: Can you suggest one?

Delilah: That’s not really my scene. From my understanding of the genre, romantic comedies generally build up to a truth-telling climax wherein the man’s dreams are torn in twain, or a comical farce in which the man turns out to be gay. Or a neo-nazi.

Cecily: You’re thinking of opera. Or Broadway.

Delilah: The point is, it’s not your job to be psychologically tortured by love feelings. The story will be a hit at the box office either way.

Two sisters, on genetics.

Cecily: One wonders how our parents, being who they are, created us.

Delilah: Well, what would you retrospectively expect? A russian count and a coquettish haberdasher? If you pay any mind to matters of the completely random you’ll go inaccessibly insane before your prospective memoir publishers have time to commence their battle royale.