"What's that for?" Brint said, coming out of the bathroom and into the large, comfortably furnished bedroom. He'd been looking at his wife's outrageous stance for some moments before speaking, and he felt he had to say something that would let her know just how ridiculous he thought she looked.

Fran jumped at the sound of her husband's voice and turned to face him defensively. "Can't you make some noise when you enter the room?" she asked. "I'm entitled to some privacy, you know… I'm a person too." She was going to say more, but thought better of it at the moment. Nevertheless, Brint saw that she was in the mood for a fight, and coincidentally, he felt in the mood for one too. He'd heard her slamming things around in the bedroom, and the telltale signs of her anger had not been lost on him. He hadn't been married to Fran for over eleven years without beginning to understand some things about her anyway, even if many of those things were purely surface manifestations.

"Anybody who goes around striking idiotic poses in front of a mirror needs privacy!" he replied. "If you only knew what you looked like, you wouldn't do it!"

Fran's patrician, almost perfect features became transformed by her sudden rage. "I can see perfectly well what I look like!" she replied.

"Oh yeah…" Brint scoffed, moving over to the bed, wearing only his pajama bottoms, his dark hair-covered chest bare as were his feet. His teeth were clean, and he felt at peace with himself, ready for a good fight.

"And for your information some of the world's best photographers have liked what they've seen… and if I were still working, I'd make more money in a day than you do in a week!" Fran picked up the brush again and brandished it dramatically.