Jane's mother, forewarned, piled the dinner table high, and Dave was fed to the bursting point. They walked under the stars, afterwards, and then sprawled on the long grass, looking at the sky.
"You're quite a guy, Dave," said Jane.
"Probably the only one of my kind in existence," he said solemnly. "Most men have eight eyes, you know. I've only got two."
"Blue, aren't they?"
"Brown," he corrected. "All two of them."
"They're blue."
"Brown."
"Dave, I'm a qualified observer and I recall them as blue!"
"Wishful thinking. Probably your first love had blue eyes."