The poodle-shaped cell phone yappity-yap-yapped.
Miss Snark checked the number — bliss! — and kicked off her stilettoes. "Snookums?"
"Ooky-pooky-wookums," replied Evil, his voice a mixture of honey and moisturising cream for rich elderly ladies.
"So where are you taking me tonight, Big Boy?"
A pause. Pregnant. 8 months. Complications. Quads. Elephants. Straining to trumpet for their lives. Their trunks lashed together by rope. Their Never Forget bodies inflating rapidly like impossible bellows ready to burst burst BURST! "Well," replied Evil. "Let's, ah, let's see..."
Miss Snark clapped her hands. "Ooooh! Ooooh! A surprise! It's that Italian place isn't it? Where you punched the waiter for mispronouncing Pina Colada! Or what about Pierre Gastrique? Wow. I could murder a nice juicy Coq au Vin, if you get my meaning. Or is it sushi? Romantic sushi, made for two-she? Jeez. Listen to me. I'm gushing. You really got me, Snookums. In Mommy's special hot place. I dunno how you do it, but I'm on fire, baby. Hey listen, let's skip the meal. Whatever you had planned, we can do next weekend. Get over here RIGHT NOW. I want you, baby, want it all. On the rug. This minute. To AC/DC."
Evil sighed with relief — then did the biggest, silentest Snoopy dance EVER. "OK, Ooky-pooky-wookums. I'll be round in five minutes in your favourite leotard..."