If I ever get around to writing the movie script/novel that I am convinced lives in some recessed corner of my head, the following text message conversation will make an appearance:
Her: it’s too late for you to come over.
Him: um, ok?
Her: At this hour, a lady should not be receiving company lest the concierge at her building think her less than lady like.
Him: soooo… meet you at the garage entrance?
Her: See you in ten minutes.