John is still cranky after discovering half of Jane’s lipstick tubes contain shrapnel and gunpowder. Pipe bombs do not belong on the bathroom counter, and each Dior lipstick costs thirty-five dollars.
“I don’t understand why you can’t make weapons out of that drugstore crap,” he says.
“I don’t wear drugstore crap, John,” she says.
This after she made a Molotov cocktail out of the perfume he gave her for their anniversary. He asks again about price, and she rattles off a statistic about chemical composition and flashpoint.
“You’re impossible to shop for,” he says. “For Christmas you’re just getting sex.”