Scene: The bathroom. I am flossing, wearing a fetching get-up of giant fuzzy sweatpants that attract every single stray hair and dust bunny in the house like a pants pied piper of filth, a sports bra, and a wifebeater. I am also wearing my glasses.
Jeff comes in and sits on the (closed) toilet, gazing up at me. I inspect the products of my floss.
Jeff: Oh, yeah. I feel like I'm in a rap video.
(It's totally business time.)