Ginger: Let’s pretend.
Ginger: Let’s pretend you’re entering a contract.
Ruby: Physically entering?
Ginger: No. Just entering into a contract.
Ruby: What kind of contract? One in which my immortal soul is in peril?
Ginger: If you like. But not really.
Ginger: Let’s pretend that you agree to certain terms and conditions based upon how many shirts you own.
Ruby: What kind of contract is this?
Ginger: Just play along.
Ruby: Do I have a choice?
Ginger: Not really.
Ruby: Okay…contract based on my shirts.
Ginger: Let’s pretend you’re saying you have 4 million shirts…
Ruby: I have a big closet…
Ginger: And you sign everything stating firmly that you have 4 million shirts.
Ruby: …if I wore one new shirt a day, I wouldn’t have to do laundry for…carry the one…10,959 years!
Ginger: Then, suddenly, one month after the contract goes into effect, you hold up the contract and say “But I only have 1 million shirts. Change these terms and conditions!”
Ruby: An auditor reviewed, um, my closet?
Ginger: No, you – the customer – changed your mind. About how many shirts you own.
Ruby: Okay. So I do laundry once every 2,740 years. It’s only an 8,000 year difference.
Ginger: As a person who worked very carefully on your contract, do I have the right to fly out to your – um – closet and find you and kick you really hard in the shins?
Ginger: I’m talking hypothetically, Ruby. I would never kick you in the shin.
Ruby: I’m still saying no.
Ginger: But why?
Ruby: Because you’re a better person than the closet-owner and their missing 3 million shirts.
Ginger: But I don’t want to be a better person! I want to go kick them in their stupid, stupid shins! Hard!
Ruby: I know you do. But you, sadly, were raised to be a good person.
Ginger: Stupid morals.
Ruby: Yeah…why don’t you go lightsaber some droids in your Wii?