Scene: Chez Squab, 24 hours after my closing my recent production. Mr. Squab has just gotten home from work.
Me: If you’ll feed and water the Hatchling, I’ll get our dinner ready.
Mr. Squab: OK. What are we having?
Me: Marinated chicken sauteed in caramelized onions, garlic, spinach and a white wine reduction, garlic mashed potatoes with parmesan and sour cream and a green salad.
Mr. Squab (drool starting to leak out of the corners of his mouth): Fuck!
Mr. Squab: That’s it. You’re never directing again.