You’re at the stove making some “Sunday Gravy” like your mother-in-law taught you. As you stir the sausage into the tomato sauce, you hear footsteps behind you.

You whip around and reach for the .22 you keep tucked into your garter in case it’s an unsavory type, only to find Leonardo standing in the doorway of your kitchen, a bouquet of white tulips in-hand and an impressed grin on his face.

He puts his hands up in mock surrender and extends the bouquet to you as you relax and put the .22 back in your garter.

“Easy, Dollface. At least wait until I’ve had a taste of that gravy you’re cookin’ before you shoot me.”