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You're in the kitchen making dinner, when Michael walks in. He stares at you for a few seconds before coming to talk to you.

"I always say that no man is better in the kitchen than a woman." He smiles.

"Um," you laugh nervously, "there are plenty of men who are better cooks than me."

He shrugs. "Not that I've met. There are certainly none that rival you." He smiles, and steps closer to you.

"Okay." You say, with little to no emotion, annoyed about this interaction.

"So what did you do before all this started?" He asks, taking a seat on a pillow.

"I nearly completed college." You respond using the same monotone voice as before.

He looks a little shocked. "Huh, what major?"

"Art."

Understanding seems to wash over him. "Ah, that makes more sense." He laughs.

"What does?" You ask him calmly, looking him directly in the eye."

"Correct me if I'm wrong," he holds his hands up, "but art doesn't seem like much of a hard major. I was going to be surprised if you said something like chemistry, mathematics, economics, or medicine."

"Why would you be surprised?"

He looks a little uncomfortable. "Well, it would just be kind of overkill for someone who will just end up being a stay at home mom, don't you agree?"

"A mom? Where are my children?" You say in shock.

"Everyone wants a family." Michael argues. "The man makes the money, the woman raises the children."

"While that's a great relationship dynamic," you agree, with a bite in your voice. "It's certainly not the only one. Especially for a single, childless woman." You turn back to your cooking.

"Don't take offense, I'm entitled to my own opinion." He chuckles.

You ignore him.

"Ah, ignoring me, huh." He laughs. "You know, I just figured it out. A woman's attitude is the reason she belongs in the kitchen. Enough saltiness to season a whole meal." He smirks, while smoothing his pants.

You turn around and smile at him, still holding your knife. You walk up close to him, stand on your toes, and whisper in his ear,

"If you want to wake up tomorrow, I suggest you stop talking."

You step back, as he scoffs.

"I won't kill you alone." You continue. "Everyone here knows and trusts me more than you. If I were you, I'd do my best to be seen, and not heard." Luckily, he leaves, looking a little paler than before.

Seriously.

Who do you want to talk to next?

I want to continue talking to people - go to 49
I don't want to talk to anyone else - go to 59

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