scarlatti is deeply, deeply worried about me, and keeps wrinkling her forehead and saying things like "but you're sick". I, on the other hand, am not particularly fussed. It doesn't seem to be worrying me at all.
Something tells me that we're not fulfilling the normal gender roles here ...
In other news, a fragment of conversation from shortly after I got her back to my house:
"The future is in your hands."
"Hmmm. I could take that a number of ways."
"Oooh! Yes please!"