Sunday morning. I'm at The Girlfriend's apartment, waiting for her to finish getting ready so we can go to brunch, our usual Sabbath-day routine. Suddenly, I realize her poodle is staring at me with deep, imploring eyes... he needs to go outside and do his dirty, sinful business. Being the great guy that I am, I put on his leash and take him outside.
Through the open patio door at my back, I can hear brief snatches of unrelated sound: a TV chef blathering about oysters, a cacophony of cheering at a sporting event, gunshots, country music. The Girlfriend is channel-surfing. The disconnected rapid-fire audio stops, and there's now a familiar, urgent melody playing.
"Sounds like you found some classic Trek," I say over my shoulder.
"Bet you can't tell me which episode," she calls back.
I listen for a moment. I can't hear it terribly well...
"What is that, 'Amok Time'?" I ask. She doesn't answer me. Puzzled, I turn to look back through the door. She's sitting on the couch with the TV remote dangling loosely from one hand and a stunned look on her face.
"What?" I say, even though I already know.
"How do you do that?"
I shrug and wait for the dog to finish relieving himself while Spock, deep in the throes of pon farr, fights his captain and friend to the death for the sake of a woman...