Woman: What's the special occasion? Anyone's birthday?
Man: No special occasion. We just want to spend some time together since we love each other very much.
Woman: [Ahh, the lovebirds!]
The rest of the story is best told in its original Javanese, and since not many of us understand Javanese, the exchanges at St Gregory's can be summarised by Kumar's poem [from 'Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay' movie]:
I'm sure that I will always be
A lonely number like root three
The three is all that's good and right,
Why must my three keep out of sight
Beneath the vicious square root sign,
I wish instead I were a nine
For nine could thwart this evil trick,
with just some quick arithmetic
I know I'll never see the sun, as 1.7321
Such is my reality, a sad irrationality
When hark! What is this I see,
Another square root of a three
As quietly co-waltzing by,
Together now we multiply
To form a number we prefer,
Rejoicing as an integer
We break free from our mortal bonds
With the wave of magic wands
Our square root signs become unglued
Your love for me has been renewed.