“You could leave a trail of those ravioli we made last month down your sidewalk.” He gestures, completely serious. “Then put a bowl of sauce in the middle of your living room.” I blink at the man on my screen. “I’d have to put a giant box over the bowl and prop it up with a stick. So when my dream man crawls across my floor with ravioli falling out of his pockets, I can kick the stick away and trap him.” Dad gives me a blank look. “Now you’re being ridiculous.” I crack up. “Yeah, I’m the problem.” He nods.
