Walking into the kitchen to see yet another downpour of rain begin after a minuscule break in the clouds:
B: I can’t take it anymore. I hope tomorrow really is The Rapture, just so I can leave this rain.
T: I hate to break it to you babe, but if tomorrow is The Rapture, you won’t be lifted up – you’re going to be stuck on the ground.
This is what I call a lack of faith.