Should I chop? Should I set the table? Pour myself a glass of wine? Call the police?

‘Should we reschedule?’ I shout, in no particular direction, around the room.

‘No no, I’m fine.’ I have to assume his bedroom is somewhere off the hallway, based on the direction of his voice.

With hesitation I tiptoe towards the voice and ask, ‘So, what happened? Can I do anything to help?’ Please say no.

‘Erm, maybe.’ And then all I hear is some mumbling, and then a request for some … paper Jews?

‘Sorry, did you ask for some paper Jews?’

With that a door swings open and he steps into the hallway. At least he’s body confident.

‘Pineapple juice. I don’t suppose you have any on you? From my research it might be more effective than the coconut milk.’

Why would I be carrying pineapple juice?

‘I can go get some?’ I decide that if he asks me to do this I will go get it, but I won’t step back in the apartment. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?’

If you don’t mind me asking. He has his penis in a can of coconut milk and I feel awkward?

‘It’s been a series of unfortunate events really. The stupid box is meant to contain all the ingredients for dinner, that’s part of the appeal. But apparently coconut milk and flour are “staples” that you should already have in your cupboard. Well, not this cupboard. So I had to go get those – two separate trips to the corner shop.

‘So anyway, I was part-way through chopping the chillies when I realized I was running late. So I went to change and take a quick loo stop. But see, erm, turns out that I hadn’t washed my hands since chopping the chillies, and, well, I think they must be very strong because I have an awful burning sensation on my guy. And I didn’t know what to do, you know, never having rubbed my dick with chilli before.’ Did he say he was rubbing? I wonder what he was doing in the loo? ‘But my mum used to make me drink regular milk after eating something too spicy, so I hoped dunking him in coconut milk might reduce the burning.

‘And then you rang the doorbell and, well, here we are.’ He opens out his available hand in a welcoming motion, whilst the other, I am happy to report, remains otherwise occupied holding the can. I hope he doesn’t cut himself.

Right. ‘I guess maybe the silver lining is that you had some coconut milk after all?’ He doesn’t say anything – perhaps it’s a bit soon to joke. I try a different tack. ‘Is it helping?’

‘Not as much as I would have hoped, but the desire to chop it off has stopped, so I think progress is being made.’

I can’t help but wonder what would happen if the situation was reversed. If I was the one in the dressing gown, hopping up and down trying to get the burning to stop in my vagina? Apart from the fact this would never happen, I don’t see Toby being as patient.