“I’m going to do as many regular push ups as I can, and then I’ll switch to girl push ups, but...

“I’m going to do as many regular push ups as I can, and then I’ll switch to girl push ups, but I–” she started, but he interrupted. 

“Assisted push ups,” he corrected.

She paused. “Assisted push ups, yeah, politically correct, right,” she agreed, her tone like that of a person who was going along with an exhausting charade.

Now it was his turn to pause as she got into the push up position. “Aren’t you offended by girl push up?” 

She looked up at him from below an arched brow, elbows bent and knees against the floor. She gave the faintest eye role and purse of her lip before her face relaxed, and she sat up on her knees, eyes going distant. 

“My mom took care of the farm,” she finially said, not looking at him. “She scared away the monsters. And later, the boys. She drove a stick-shift, and she taught us how to clean the shot gun.” Finially she looked up at him, features calm and pensive. “I’m not offended by girl push ups.”