In the infinities of parallel universes

We are sitting on the beach and it is a balmy night. The moon is full but distant enough for the stars to take over the sky. We are lying in the sand and you are telling me about the woman in the tourist store who was in her fifties, fake boobs, bad George Hamilton tan, wrinkly neck - who insisted on buying the Union Jack string bikini. And I am telling you about the guy in the Denny's who sent his eggs back four times, insisting they weren't just what he wanted, and about how I begged the kitchen staff not to spit on his food. Then you say, "But you secretly wanted them to, right?" And I laugh. We count stars while the waves lull us to sleep.