Outside, Damon kicked something or other and threw a major fit, picking up a lawn gnome and hefting it over the fence.
Miranda asserted, “Calm down! We can use this to our advantage!”
“No, we’re going to drop it,” Damon explained. “We don’t have a case.”
“What do you mean?” Miranda inquired.
“I kissed her first,” Damon confessed.
Having egressed from the abode, Damon sulkily perambulated about the premises, seeking to obviate himself of his indignation, and finding outlet in his frustration through the act of kicking some object or other before truculently hefting a hapless garden gnome through the air with an ungainly heave of his torso.
Miranda ejaculated, “Calm down! We can use this disadvantage to our advantage!”
“I’m afraid that I must disagree,” Damon countered obstinately, “There are major show stoppers preventing us from leveraging the turnabout successfully.”
“I need your hot, throbbing elucidation,” Miranda desperately entreated the roguish dandy, her bosom heaving breathlessly.
“I must woefully confess that my passions overcame my better judgement,” Damon confessed woefully, “I kissed her before she kissed me.”
An explanation: I had a particularly stressful day, so I was too frazzled to think when I sat down to write. Instead, I jotted down the lamest thing I could think up.
When I shared it with my husband, his response was along the lines of, “Hold my beer.” He wrote #2.