In my mind she's dressed like Sailor Moon and I'm an itinerant Pokemon collector working under deep cover as a domestic applicance repairman. My cover is blown when I suggest that she might like to consider freezing her bread like any right thinking member of the sane community.
An argument ensues.
Her cupboards are bare save for a selection box of Jim Garrahy's
fudge and a catering size container of concentrated long life economy bitterness.
Her ceiling is festooned with mutual disappointment.