"That was a really a pretty awesome play, Rach," Finn said, finishing off the last of the Sour Patch Kids he had bought during intermission, "that was freakinghilarious. The South Park guys should totally make more musicals."
"Mmm-hmm," replied Rachel, clearly preoccupied, as she stared out the cab window.
"Man, I wish these cabs had more leg room," Finn said, trying to find a better way to fit his long legs in front of him.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" Rachel lamented, "we've been in the same spot for 20 minutes already. This traffic is insane."
"Well, yeah, babe, but it's midtown at rush hour," Finn shrugged, "what's the big hurry, though? We don't have to meet Kurt for a half-hour."
"I—just—I'm just—this is driving me nuts," Rachel huffed, clearly flustered, "what the hell is going on out there?"
Finn looked at Rachel suspiciously as she craned her neck to get a better view of the cars up ahead and shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
"Babe, what is going on with you?" Finn asked, puzzled, "you've gone all crazy-town on me."
"Nothing," Rachel said shortly, "I just—nothing!"
"Okay, seriously, Rach," Finn began, "obviously something is wrong. Are you sick or something?"
"I just have to use the ladies room, that's all," said Rachel, gritting her teeth.
"But you just went before we left the theater," he reasoned, "and you only had that one little diet Coke."
Rachel didn't answer, she just tapped her fingers nervously on her knee and sighed impatiently.
Finn gasped suddenly.
"YOU have to poop, don't you?" he laughed, pointing at her accusingly, "admit it!"
"Shut up, Finn," she snapped, "I'm a lady, and I refuse to have this discussion with you."
"Just say it, Rachel," he teased excitedly, "just say it—My name is Rachel Hudson and I have to poop."
"I will not," Rachel said shaking her head, annoyed and embarrassed.
"Baby," Finn grinned, "we've been married for six months and you have yet to admit to having any bodily functions. You're beautiful, you always smell good, you're all lady-like, and I love that about you, but I'm your husband. I swear I will not love you any less if you go number 2 when I'm in our apartment. In fact, I will love you so much more."
"Finn," she warned, "look, I need to get out of this cab. There's a Starbucks over there where I can use the powder room. We'll just take the subway."
"Nope," Finn said, clapping a hand over the door lock, "you are not getting out of this cab until you say, Finn, I have to poop."
Rachel gave him a desperate look, then looked longingly out the window at the cafe and its promise of a bathroom. She threw her hands up in surrender.
"FINN," she began angrily, "I HAVE TO POOP!"
She bolted out of the cab as he released his hand. Finn laughed and raised his arms in victory as he handed the driver his fare and followed her into Starbucks.
He was standing outside the door of the ladies room when she emerged, shielding her face in embarrassment. Grinning wildly, he pulled her into a hug and pressed his lips to hers.
"Finn—are you crazy?" she asked, red-faced, "are you really kissing me because I admitted that I had to—I had to—"
"Poop," he finished, laughing, "and yes. This is huge for you, Rachel, letting me see a side of you that is less than glamorous. This is what married people do—intimacy and all that, right?"
Rachel couldn't help but crack a smile as she leaned into him.
"Well then," she said, smoothing out her coat, "maybe if you're lucky, I'll let you watch me clean my ears."
"It's a date," he laughed, throwing an arm around her shoulder as they headed for the subway, "I'll bring the Q-tips."