After assisting her with dropped pillows, Paul kept out of her way as Charlette commenced to setting up their little makeshift theatre.  He was fairly positive that whatever movie they ended up agreeing to would not be enjoyed in Dolby Surround-Sound.  Also, he took note of how for someone else’s first time, she sure seemed to know what she was doing.  She wisely (but unknowingly) put him in charge of positioning and securing the sheet.  Good move on her part, he thought with self-deprecation, not to let him handle the technical side of things.<br/><br/>Smirking at his thought and satisfied that the sheet would stay put, Paul turned toward her just in time to catch her looking at him.  Probably making sure I'm doing this right, he thought.  See that, Old Man?<i>She </i>is the Great White Shark.  And you?<i>You </i>are the chum.  The fuck you talking about, he protested, Great Whites don’t eat chum.<br/><br/>Oh, they do in this case, Old Man.  And thanks a freaking lot!  Paul just had to get the last word in, just because.  Charlette, meanwhile, was toying with her projector, moving it around until she was pleased with its centering on the sheet.  Surveying their “seats,” he noticed how there was more than enough pillows for them to be comfortable.  And that big blanket of hers appeared warm enough.<br/><br/>A hefty sigh, and then, You sure enjoy torturing yourself, don’tcha, Old Man?  Not a clue what you’re talking about, was his response.<br/><br/>Well, allow me to paint you a picture then.  Pillows.  Nice, thick blanket.  A slight chill outside.  Charlette and Old Man under the blanket.  Charlette feels a little cold.  Charlette wants some snuggles.  Who taught you the word<i>snuggles</i>? Paul had to ask.  Never mind that crap!  Connect the dots, Old Man!<br/><br/>Slightly (but only slightly) faster than a moving glacier, it finally dawned on him.  The sound was faint, but discernible nevertheless.  It was the impending, kiss-your-ass-goodbye, shark-attack theme from<i>Jaws.</i>