I am glad you and Ned are back together. You go together like peanut butter and jelly. When you’re apart, it’s like peanut butter and sadness. Or jelly and uncomfortable silences. Either way, you’re looking at a sandwich that no one wants, and probably no one will buy it ever.
[ND: Yep, that sounds like Joe. Tell him I say hi.]
[FH: Oh, you wish that was the end of the note. It goes on:]
A world where Ned and Nancy are not together as a couple is as disturbing as it is dangerous to the quantum make-up of our interstellar plane of reality-
[FH: You know what, I’m just going to stop reading there.]
He is. I am not an advocate of pulpy romance novels, but if I were I'd call that an arcable trait. In chapter one he'd swagger into the excavation site, the picture of a rascal with his dusty leather jacket and decidedly European haircut, his cocky, ne'er-d-well smirk displaying his perfectly white teeth. But by the end he's be sweetly holding flowers and saying "Professor Hotchkiss I am dying to discuss your latest publication."