“Hey, handsome,” coos Lorelei. “Been waiting for me all day?”

He doesn’t respond.

“I like that,” she coos, crawling into bed.

He refrains from speech.

“I missed you,” she whispers, stroking his chest. “Missed you a lot.”

He yet remains silent. This is unsurprising. He doesn’t, after all, have a head.

Lorelei probably couldn’t say when she fell for his department-store good looks, and certainly couldn’t say why. But she can go on about how she’s so lucky; how they’re perfect for each other; how, when she’s apart from him, she pines for her perfect, sculpted 372-T/N and his styrofoam caress.