"I know, Joseph. I like them, too. We owe them. Clearly."
Joseph says nothing.
He's not resigned. More: 'Are we there yet?' There's been a lot of this since THE NIGHT IT HAPPENED.
Mary pops. "It's his fifth birthday. They're still here."
"Fifth," Joseph corrects her softly but firmly; she can't miss it.
"What?" Her eyes swing toward him, like twin arrowheads. The head scarf just emphasizes her stare.
"You didn't capitalize Fifth when you said it," Joseph explains. He likes his pedagogy when he can get away with it. Otherwise, a wonderful man!
"We're not literate, moron." Mary says something else sharp under her breath. "We don't capitalize. Besides, love-of-my-ordained-life, you capitalize His, not fifth."
tune in sometime in the next millennia when we invent radio drama