"This is the best fake date I've ever had," I tell her.
"Me too," she says. But when she digs into her chopped salad it all goes horribly wrong.
"Oh no," she says. "What is this?" She pushes her fork toward me, thrusting a shred of lettuce with a tiny brown splotch in my direction. "It's an arachnid!" she says. I examine it closely. It is definitely not an arachnid.
"It's just a splotch," I assure her.
"Wait!" she says. "On your hand!!!" Suddenly Rossum grabs my wrist and shows me a tiny, meandering ant. "That isn't from the lettuce, is it?" No, it's just a wayward bug from the patio wall. She watches me lay my hand on the blue stucco and coax the thing off with my finger. She casts me a look of slight disappointment. "I would have gone with the blowing method," she says as it crawls away.
In real life, Emmy Rossum makes a terrible insect slayer.