It isn't hard to find Ravi — I'm shown the way. I have this thing where sometimes — Just sometimes, usually when I'm stressed out because I'm hungry and I'm all out of bunny brains — a faint, pale blue line just appears out in the world to point me like I was dropped into the real life version of Waze and am trying to get to the nearest Starbucks. I think it's to do with my color designation, and you would think I'd have confirmed this with my boyfriend in his similarly navy blue, butt-hugging pants, but I haven't. Give me a break, he's distracting.

So it naturally follows that on this incredibly stressful day wherein I have almost drowned myself to the dulcet sounds of Simon and Garfunkel, when I recover enough to start worrying about whether Ravi and Major are okay, my Google street view kicks on. And there Ravi is, still alive (pro) but wandering in a daze toward the water (con), looking like he just finished reading a Danielle Steel novel.

"Ravi!" I yell, kicking up sand as I sprint his way. "Ravi, stop!" He's to the edge of the water by the time I get there, positioning myself in front of him, both hands against his chest as the waves swirl in around my boots. "If you drown yourself, Ravi Chakrabarti, I am going to put your go-go boots in a wood chipper!"

Yeah, we don't have a wood chipper. Whatever.