“How will we get them to come back to Bug Night?” asked the male White Coat, “I worry about losing momentum and interest after taking off last week for that conference presentation.”
The male White Coat wrung his hands. The things he worried about, the female White Coat thought. She was busy counting chocolate bars and making sure there was enough alcohol. It was only 5:50 PM. She was happy to have a few moments of cool, calm set-up time in the relaxing darkness of the laboratory.
“What if they forget?” he pressed, “What if the weather is too nice? What if they are tired of looking at dead bugs?”
The last sentence hung in the air like evaporating denatured alcohol. Come to think of it, why would anyone want to spend three hours each week looking at dead bugs, he thought. Both were struck momentarily with the absurdity of the Bug Nights conceit and construct. What if, indeed? He felt as if he were in a cartoon where he ran off a cliff and was fine until he looked down.
As he droned on with his insecurities and doubts, the female White Coat’s mind drifted. She gazed out the window and looked across the field facing the laboratory.
“I don’t think it will be a problem,” she said.