Michael wanted to believe that all the comic book readings, the scifi novels, that part in Dragonball Z when Trunks came back from the past and realized that he’d created a new timeline, even Leibniz and his silly suggestion,
he’d wanted to believe that the time he gave to these things would prepare him for conversations like tonight’s; that the time he’d given to them wasn’t entirely worthless in this venue.
Still, voices escalate, in tone and volume, and neither can accept that the other (or, given an eager young scifi author, both) might be correct.
“I distinctly remember wearing this dress two years ago, to the Winslow’s 10th anniversary party.” says Amanda, grasping for the zipper.
“No you didn’t,” Michael insists, scanning his iPhoto albums, desperate for evidence; ”you wore the red dress with the gloves that night; the Winslow’s party was before you even had this dress.”
Despite the near shouting, neither is overwhelmingly concerned about what she wore that night, and eventually they’ll agree to just retcon the Winslow’s party to a 50’s theme because someone has to explain how that poodle skirt got in the closet.