Marilyn tidied up the appartment under a thundercloud, wishing Matt would die in a fire rather than come back, until she walked through the hall with a bottle of india ink in her hand. He had left his best-beloved suede jacket on the coat rack.
To test a theory, Harriet built a catapult to throw sticks into thunderstorms. She carefully noted what happened to each - usually only the place where she found it again, rarely that it had been hit by lightning, in which case the result usually was a charred stick.
When Nancy and Tom divorced, the little cottage by the lakeside was the one thing they argued over. A compromise was found once they figured out he loved the house, while she loved the place. She kept the land. They could afford to convert the holiday home to a houseboat for him to take away.
"What's the opposite of boot?"
"No, entirely different --"
"Nooo, what you do with a computer."
"Oh. Um. Crash?"
"I'd think that's something the computer does... I mean what you do before switching it off normally, anyway."
"I think that's 'shut down'."
"Can't think of anything else."
"Bah. Thanks, anyway."
The lab was a big clicé, full of dark wood and leather props, candles stuck on skulls chipping highlights off inlaid runes. At least they had a pickled dragon embryo rather than the old stuffed alligator...
She finally got the joke when she saw the familiar.