No, no, put that cigarette out and come in from the snow, you can smoke in the house, it's totally ok. Nice lipstick--are you sure about those shoes?
Oh, of course, you're right. I do have a big mouth--but that's why you like me, right? They're fabulous. Chartreuse platforms with red bows are absolutely the new black slingback.
Can I get you some coffee? Tea? A pillow? A poor, bedraggled writer with a deadline and an alarmingly blank brain who will happily build up a perfect cherry cordial hecatomb to you if you will just sit with her for awhile and make with the book.
Haven't I always rubbed your feet after we're finished? Haven't I always kept the house stocked with limoncello and crayons just the way you like it?
Come on, why are you doing this to me? I've been a good vessel, haven't I? I hardly ever say no, even when you want to make with the crazy depressing deathlit and lesbian necrophilia. I'll paint your toenails to match your shoes. I promise.
Just come over here and sit by me.