Changed my mind.. Nobody can help us shorten the learning curve.
You’re always not talking. I get your point (noncommittal without the tedium of argument).
So I turn blue when I cool. I blast up by myself when you leave. And when you come back I produce a mental readout of how long it takes you to set the temperature, lighting and so on.

I can’t snicker, I’m elegant and round with a mirror finish.
The American Songbook has mirrors, motors for luscious hills, gleaming grains.
Apparatchik Bukowski’s fall is a warning, hissable, gone monochrome in uglified loveliness besieged by entertainment.