"Remember, if you feel any pain, or if you feel at all weird, even, I've got the medics on speed-dial."
"Yeah, you've only told me a hundred times."
"Well, I'm sorry if I don't think it's a great idea for an eight-and-a-half-months pregnant woman to attend a loud, hot, crowded music festival."
"I am not missing The Cure."
"Cheer up. It's almost time!"
"Somehow I doubt The Cure will do a good job of cheering me up. They're pretty much the most depressing band on the planet."
"What about The Smiths?"
"Fair point. So The Cure is the second-most depressing band on the planet."
"Robert Smith's fun to watch, though. I mean, that voice. And his hair is hilarious."
"If you love Robert Smith so much, why don't you marry him?"
"Because I'm already stuck with you. Which I'm totally okay with, by the way."
"You're not going to try to--"
"Oh my God, what was that? Are they on?"
"No, hon. It's just the sound guy. You're not going to try to name our baby Robert, are you?"
"We don't even know that it's a boy."
"Aren't you afraid it's gonna come out all melancholy and emo now?"
"What would be the scientific process behind that, exactly?"
"I dunno. Like the ultra-sad soundwaves would vibrate the brain, or something."
"You're cute. Look at you, being the concerned dad and all. But I think it's too late. I've been playing The Cure ever since it was conceived. It's probably doomed to pop out wearing black and lamenting the pangs of unrequited love."
"So that's why it'll be crying so much."
"Right. Hungry? No. Sleepy? No. Unrequited love? Yes."
"Good to know."
"Oh my God, oh my God. I think it's starting!"
"No, you idiot! The show."
"You've got to be more specific."
"I'm sorry. I love you so much. But I have to stop paying attention to you now."
"I get it. You go get lost in Robert's voice. I'll be right here."
She was undoubtedly a dedicated Cure fan. In other news, I start driving to Vegas tomorrow! Hopefully I'll be able to blog during the trip, but we'll see...