All in the Delivery

Woman: You don't even know me.
Man: So? I like you. I know you as well as I'll need to.
Woman: We've only met three times!
Man: That's not important. Nobody knows anyone anyway. Not really...
Woman: What's that supposed to mean?
Man: ...I don't even know myself! And I've been together 24 years.
Woman: But, but, you don't even know my middle name!
Man: Ah, you want me to learn about you. Well that's different. Sure, we'll do one of those email quizzes my friends send; we'll swap unusual facts and figures like when did you first ride a pony, and what kind of ice cream you would rather be suffocated with etcetera.
Woman: Are you for real?
Man: Come on, who really knows you? All they know is the assumptions and conclusions they have, probably falsely, drawn from the words, smiles and experiences you've exchanged. It's all in their heads; they've made it up. The opinions you are forming right now of me; they're not real, I'm not actually this crazy. But after you've formed them, that's it, nothing matters anymore.
Woman: So are we done here?
Man: Sure, sure, we're done. Pizza'll be with you in twenty minutes.