[Johanna just snorts, dismissively, at that chiding. That is to say: obviously she was the exception to her cutting assessment, just like she's always the exception.]

Please. I'm breaking your run of bad luck.

[And you better be grateful for it. The longer they lay in this position, all pushed and draped together, the more used to it Johanna gets. Soon she'll catch herself, and get away. For now, it's all right (more or less); she can put up with it.]

And that's not cute. Did he want it to always be his idea or something? Like a surprise, every time? [Her voice gets all coo-y and purry and pouty, a tone which dissolves instantly with her next pearl of wisdom:] Men are so dumb.