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To me, "pretty" connotes artificiality, complexity, fragility - and, to a certain extent, unapproachable inedibility. Maybe that's just my perspective from growing up male. No doubt those of you who grew up girls (who are, typically, encouraged to be pretty) might have a different take on the adjective.

But yes, I think we can all agree, there is a great difference between "prettiness" and "beauty". One of those words carries greater weight than the other.

Not that it matters, of course, since Jamie retconned that last five seconds.

(Friday afternoon, INT: EB and JH's apartment, living room.)

EB: No. Are you kidding me. Are you kidding me right now.
JH: About a year ago, I was working at a cupcake place called Little Cuppin' Precious. The owner was this old Pakistani guy who was obsessed with making things "pretty".
JH: All day every day, we'd make these nigh-inedible little sculptures out of icing and marzipan, elaborate figurines of butterflies and flowers and curlicues and ruffles.
JH: And Mister Nausherwani would stand behind us and... and he would literally poke us, and say "Pritty, pritty! Make it pritty! Not pritty enough, it must be pritty!".
JH: Carnations and baby's breath are pretty. Butterflies and songbirds are pretty. Ribbons are pretty. Barbie is pretty. And yes, that dress that you're wearing is very pretty.
JH: You? Are beautiful.
JH (checking watch): Ahh, that was thirty-five seconds. Sorry. Scratch that last bit.