My best friend Mary and her loving boyfriend Rob have a particular verbal exchange that they frequently use with one another. It works like this:
Rob says something bizarre, or something with which Mary does not agree.
Mary responds with "You're high."
Rob replies with "You're pretty."
It is all very charming and sweet.
I was reminded of this on the train this morning, albeit not in the same charming context, when a woman sat down on the bench in front of me and announced "You're pretty," then proceeded to pet my head for the next two stops until she again said "You're pretty," then disembarked at Fullerton.