Pam was resting her head on Jim’s chest. “I love you,” she whispered.

“Yeah?” he teased. “How much?”

She thought. “I love you as much as Cortez loved gazing out at the Pacific.”

“A for effort, but too bad that it was actually Balboa that discovered it.”

She sat up. “It was so Cortez.”

“Balboa.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, whoever it was, I just compared you to an ocean, so no complaining.”

“Eh.”

“What do you mean ‘eh?’”

“Just, you know, you had to resort to a simile to describe your love for me. It’s apparently not monumental enough as is, so it needs the grandeur of a discovery that changed history to give it meaning. Eh.”

She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Fine.” She paused to think. “When I’m around you I feel like I swallowed one of those glowing radiation sticks from the Simpsons.

“That… is a simile,” Jim pointed out.

“It is not.”

“Yes, it is. You’re comparing the feeling I give you to toxic waste. Smooth, Beesly.”

She hit him lightly on the shoulder. “Shut up. You try.”

“Alright.” He straightened up and stroked his chin in an exaggerated manner. “How about ‘I’m on fire when I see you?’”

“Corny and a simile.”

“What? That’s so not a simile.”

“Well, it’s a literary device. You can’t use it.”

“It’s not even a literary device.”

“Uh, yeah, it is, because you’re not really on fire. It’s personification.”

“No, that like saying the - insert object - is/does -insert felling/action. For example, Dwight’s bobble head wants to kill me.

“That’s not literary, that’s just delusional. Try your first one again.”

“’Kay.”

Pam liked looking at his eyes when he was thinking.

“My undying love for you is like the ocean,” he said, giving her a goofy smile and a dramatic bow.

“So we’re back to oceans and similes, huh?”

He smiled and sighed. “Why is it so damn hard to describe love without comparing it?”

Pam laid her head back down on Jim’s chest. “Because it’s undefined.”