Nadine: “Why are you handing this to me?”

Postman Pete: “It’s addressed ‘To the Lady of the House’.”

Nadine: “You’re assuming that this is my house. And that I’m a lady.”

Pete: “You did sort of walk out the door just now.”

Nadine: “That doesn’t prove anything. I could have killed the people inside and I was trying to make my escape when you rudely walked up.”

Pete: “Well, I didn’t see or hear anything and I’m on a schedule. So could you just take the letter and I’ll rudely walk away.”

Nadine: “Why do you show up here every day? Are you stalking me? I’ve read about people like you. Did your mother neglect you as a child? Did you not get enough porridge?”

Pete: “My mother was a saint and I got porridge every day. And before you ask, Father was aces as well, we couldn’t be closer and I call both of them every day and people have written songs about how happy our family is. Now would you please take the letter?”

Nadine: “It’s my hair, then.”

Pete: “What?”

Nadine: “You fancy my hair. You want your hair to look like mine. I know you’ve been practicing, trying to style it just like I do. But you botched it this morning and now you’ve hidden the mess under that ridiculous hat the size of a bathtub.”

Pete: “I have no feelings whatsoever about your hairstyle or your dress or the fact that whoever is legally responsible for you is not doing their job. Just. Take. The. Letter.”

Nadine, sighing, taking, then shoving back: “I don’t want it. It bores me. Return to sender.”

Pete: “Fine, I will do just that. I’ll send it back to… hey, the return address is the same as this address. Did you send this letter to yourself?”

Nadine: “Perhaps.”

Pete: “For the love of God…”

Nadine: “God had nothing to do with it. My internet connection has been down for three days and I was bored out of my mind. Would you like to come in for some tea? We can do each other’s hair!”