Etta Marie and take out

"Every Sunday night I wonder why rich people waste so much money on their pets," said Barry as his slurped down another rice noodle.

"This pays half my rent. Poodles for noodles, Barry. Be happy I'm buying," said Etta Marie.

"If you move in with me, no more park. No more walking in the rain. No more poodles with ribbons. It's because I'm Jewish, right?"

"What?"

"It's because I live by the train?"

"What do they say about housing? Oh yes: Location, location, location."

"Etta! You could ditch this dog job and move in, you know it. I've asked you, what, eight times?"

"It's because I can't stand you, Barry. I can't stand people who are in love with me. Don't you get it?"

He folded the carton around the chop sticks and grimaced. "It's annoying?"

"It's too much."

"It works fine in the movies."

"Yes, it does," she agreed.

Barry flopped his feet on the coffee table, and scratched his stubble. "You really have to be sensible, Etta."

"Get your feet off the table, Barry."

"It would never work, would it?" he groaned.

"Probably not."

"I'll see you next week then."

"Okay. Bring a movie next time," she smiled.