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 friends, on lamb.

Cecily: I spent the whole of yesterday stressed about the small levels of dust in my house, and obsessing over the lamb shanks that I’m cooking for my impending romantic home date.

Alexander: I am silently judging you for eating not only an animal, but a baby animal.

Cecily: I love eating baby animals. And wearing their parents.