“It’s 3:32, and I need just one more ingredient to finish baking 3:33. Would you prefer the AM or the PM piece?”

“Quick! Hide under my 3:33 am, but don’t pet my 3:33 pm.”

“Pet my 3:33 pm like it’s a beard. Live it, but don’t lick it.”

“Love is 3:33 am plus 360 degrees plus 365 days, minus 12:34 pm. I ought to know, because I weighed it myself.”

“Love isn’t measured in feet and miles, it’s measured in hands and hands on. (Yesterday at 3:33 pm I spoke to the Prime Minister of Orafouraville about your recent skin condition, and he said he’d send over his best cartographer to map the growing infection).”

“The time is now 3:34. Damn! I’m late for 3:33.”

“Sometimes I think I know her. This is not one of those times. This is not 3:33.”