"So," you start, setting her mind at rest, "we're agreed that menial labor and carnal intimacy do not a marriage make?" You smile.

"Yes, sir." She smiles back.

"What about the other model proposed by the world, that of equality in marriage?" you suggest. "Is that any better at humanizing marriage?"

"No, sir."

"Why not?"

"Because it would destroy marriage. If a husband and wife are equals, it means that the wife has just as much say in the marriage as the husband."

"And that isn't a good thing? Are you sure this isn't your 'ideal android wife' programming doing the talking?" you tease her.

"My... what do you mean? What kind of programming do you think I come with?" she asks defensively.

"Programming that inclines you to call me 'sir', for one. That's a typical form of address used by female androids, but no modern human woman would be caught dead using it."

"O-Oh. Then what would a typical human woman address you as?"

"Some execrable term of endearment, doubtless." You grimace. "Or nothing at all. Anyways, the point is that she would not at all take kindly to the implication that I have any kind of authority over her."

Amie seems to take this in. "So if I were to address you as 'sir' in public, it would be taken as a lack of respect..."

"Precisely. Also, a lack of familiarity. And in both cases, a defect in our relationship."

Amie nods. "Then, it would be disrespectful to address you as anything other than 'honey' or 'sweetie'."

"Indeed, because according to the logic of the world, the man who prefers 'sir' to 'sweetie', or any other trite banality you can think of, would be guilty of having gotten into his idiotic head the patently absurd notion that his wife should regard him with sentiments bordering on gratitude and respect."

Amie bursts into laughter at this. "That's silly! How could you respect a woman who doesn't respect you? That's backwards!"

You smile to yourself at this naïve and manifestly pre-programmed response. Yes, it’s clear she finds it completely normal to be a submissive, ‘traditional’ wife. Still, you decide to play along for now. "It's not a matter of interpersonal respect, not at this level. It's a matter of respect for the contract. Humans in those circumstances aren't living for each other, they're living for the societal expectations imposed on them. And I'll tell you another thing: those sorts of 'relationships' either end in divorce or misery for everyone involved."

Amie looks at you with a new appreciation. "So... in your view, what makes a marriage work?"

"Love, of course, but the question is how to light and feed its flame to ever greater heights." You tilt your half-empty wine glass, contemplating its depths. "There is one thing we can say for sure, and it is that artificial, contrived equality is antithetical to love."

"What do you mean?"

"Look at the two of us. We're not equals. You have next to no money or possessions of your own. Granted, you don't need my food to survive, but all the same you are very much dependent on me to live in the world. But do those factors dissuade or encourage a deeper bond between us?" You take another sip as you await her answer, having long since finished your meal. Amie still has quite a bit of food remaining on her plate, however. She looks down a bit, thinking.

After a brief pause, she meets your eyes again. "I..." She is silent once more, seemingly deep in thought. "I'd say encourage." She smiles, though you seem to detect something wistful in her expression. "Coming here has made me... happy."

You nod slowly, keeping a straight face. "So it would seem. Does that apply to this dinner as well? Or would you be just as happy eating this steak on your own?"

Amie smiles broadly. "I'd be happier eating it with you! It's like the wine. Everything's better with you." She then reddens a little, embarrassed by her apparent boldness.

After a brief pause, you ask, "Can you identify why, specifically?"

Amie looks at you for a long moment, as if to discern all the hidden meanings in your question. Then, she blushes again and looks away. "I-I'm not sure. I think it's because you...you make me feel cared about. You made me happy when I wasn't happy before, and you're treating me like... like a lady." She lowers her eyes to the table once more. "And I... I really like that."

You mightily refrain from rolling your eyes. "I'm glad to hear it. What I would also like to hear, however, is a drawing out of the principle we have previously elucidated: to wit, the usage of the material things around us as intermediaries with which to strengthen our immaterial bond. How is this principle applicable to our dinner?"

Amie looks at you expectantly, and you continue: "In sharing a meal we are speaking a language of sorts. Earlier we went over the various benefits of wine—pleasure, increased sociability, exuberance, even health... similarly, this food offers its own set of benefits, and generally a hearty steak dinner will be well regarded and reserved for a special occasion. By selecting this meal and drink I have therefore made a series of implicit statements. Does that help you get on the right track?"

Amie nods. "I think so... by offering wine, you're communicating that you wish me to not only to relax, but also that you'd like to converse."

"Yes. I am telling you that your thoughts are important to me, that I want to hear your voice. That is the sociability. I want you to be happy, and there we have the pleasant, heady feeling given by alcohol. I want you to be healthy—the health benefits. And..." You cut yourself short. "As for the steak, the same principle holds true. This is your first day in your new home. It's a special occasion. To show you that it means something to me, I chose a meal that is not everyday. I want to take care of you and ensure that you are nourished and healthy, hence a meal that is substantial and filling. I want you to be happy, and so I gave you the most delicious thing I had to offer. Thus," you conclude, "I would say that the point of this dinner was mainly for you to feel special, for me to strengthen my bond with you. Of course I'm well aware of the rebuttal society would offer: 'But the alcohol has no effect on her! It can't put her at ease, or give her pleasure, or improve her health! She doesn't need the steak's nutrients! She can't taste food as we do!' All very true. But through these quite useless—for you—material things, I have managed to feed you nonetheless."

Your eyes meet Amie's once more, and the corner of your mouth turns up just a bit. "So tell me, would dinner have been the same had we been in an equal position?"

Amie doesn't respond right away. Her eyes move from your face to her clothing, then to the table. After a moment, she reaches out and touches the wooden table. "No," she says quietly. "It wouldn't have been the same."

You're pleasantly surprised to hear her so sure of herself. "Oh?" you reply, feigning surprise. "How do you come to that conclusion?"

She turns her eyes back up to yours. "Because everything I've received today has been a gift. And thank you for sharing this with me. It's the greatest gift I've ever received."

You look away for a moment, and one side of your mouth tilts up in a small smile. In that split second, your face is transformed. You become someone else. Someone warm and approachable. "You're welcome," you reply simply.