If I were to ever write a short story I think I would call it Robinson Crusoe and Betty, and it would be how this guy, Robinson, and this girl Betty, got shipwrecked on a deserted island together.
I think I'd have Robinson be really happy about being shipwrecked, and yeah, I'd probably make Betty really happy about it too.
So they'd both be really happy together, and eat fish, and berries and drink coconut milk, and send out for pizza every third week or so, and play scrabble every night after the six o'clock news ended, and Betty would get triple x and z scores almost every game and kick Robinson's ass, and they would have sex every night, or at least consider it, and they'd laugh whenever telemarketers tried to call them because they don't have a phone, and of course there would be karaoke every Saturday night at the Blue Grotto, and they'd both be perfect, and thin, and super intelligent, and rich, and beloved by one and all, and people would tell them what a great couple they were or keep their comments to themselves.
Robinson and Betty would lead full and satisfying lives on their very own deserted island and die with smiles on their faces during sex when they were really, really old, and together.
The End
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