You know what I mean. [She picks up one of the wrappers she's rolled into a ball and flicks it at him, resisting the urge to roll her eyes again.] And my imagined conversations usually end with me winning, so. [He rarely follows the script she writes for him when she makes up conversations in her head whilst in the shower or on the treadmill, but that tends to happen with her scripted thoughts, so whatever.

She shrugs and shakes her head, an action that's more of a roll of her head from side to side so she doesn't have to lift her chin off her palm.] I'd rather hear it from you.

[She hums, her eyebrows lifting lazily.] No kidding. Well, you'll still beat the rest of us, even with all the best modern medical advances, reaching one fifty is mostly considered a miracle.