"Stop it, don't laugh. This isn't funny."

It was funny. So funny. And no, this wasn't one of those corny questions of, "babe, would you still love me as a lobster?", because Dick was just red. Like, fire hydrant red, red lobster red, your favourite shade of lipstick red!

All he'd wanted to do was take a nap, maybe get a tan, crash on the beach and watch you frolic around in the waves like you were in a perfume advertisement, not... doze off and become the new mascot for Red Lobster. The worst part is, instead of comforting and cooing at him, you're sitting beside him, wheezing and rolling about on your towel, clutching your sides.

"Stop laughing at me!" He whines, gripping your shoulders and shaking you, biting back the nagging urge to throttle you into the sand. He knew he was white, but damn, not this white; you'd helped him apply like, twenty layers of sunscreen, just for them to do nothing!