Being with Pea feels like sitting on a bed of nails - if those things still exist, or be kind enough to think of a contemporary analogy. I am expected to defend myself continuously - thus confirming my strength - against sarcasm (I'm an enthusiast, but I know my timing), pessimism and diffidence. If I'm rather sinking on a pile of manure when I make my plea, I'm a couple of inches deeper when I'm done. And Pea doesn't want much from life, I suppose; it's enough to find faults with things, even with the most natural of them, like rust on a bicycle.