Karen: Now I won't fall, because I can count on you to keep me steady walking along beside me in those dull but reliable boots of yours.
Steve: Is that really a comment on my boots or are you suggesting that I, as a person, am a bit dull as well?
K: You dull? On the contrary, mon frere. There is nothing about you that is dull with the obvious exception of your boots. Even the boots have a kind of charm that complements your other charming qualities.
S: My other charming but mildly dull qualities?
K: Oh, my. You are the self-conscious one aren't you. Don't you believe me when I say there is nothing dull about you?
S: It's hard, because everything about me feels dull. You know, not sharp, not incisive, not cutting edge, just, well, so darn ordinary.
K: Mmm. First of all, for me, dull and ordinary aren't synonyms. I could revel in your ordinariness and still not find you dull at all. Ordinary is egalite, liberte, fraternite. Ordinary is every man. Ordinary is democracy. Ordinary is the one God loves.
S: Doesn't he love the dull as well?
K: Of course, but don't distract me from my main point. You are ordinary, but in this really marvelous and appealing way. The way you wear that brimmed and ear-flapped hat of yours is ordinary, but it's also entirely and uniquely you. Nothing dull about it, but gloriously ordinary, yes.
S: Gloriously ordinary? Nice phrase. Almost oxymoronic, don't you think?
K: Hardly almost. Intentionally and brilliantly oxymoronic. There is nothing almost about it. Please don't bring me down with your almosts. I am fully, irresistibly, and insistently present. Nothing almost about me. Kiss me, you fool!
(He does and it is a long, loving embrace.)
K: Nothing dull OR ordinary about that kiss. That's the sort of kiss that makes watches stop and wolves howl. That's a kiss for the ages. Which startles me into a wonderful thought. The next time you're feeling dull or ordinary, just invade my personal space, and steal a big, amazing, long-lasting kiss. Best antidote for the ordinary blues I know.