the second thousand years

"Oh for the love of Mike, what the hell is he doing in there"? He pounded on the bathroom door again, harder and more towards the middle. "'He's in the Powder Room,' you said".
"Ok. But can you blame him"?, she retorted in a screeching high-pitch.
"Yes. I can blame him", he replied softly and stiffly.
"But he hasn't gone in at least a thousand years"!
"But he's...he's...
"What?"
"Stone".
"Well, I'm a little buzzed myself", she answered clutching her head with both hands. He looked at her sideways and noticed for the first time she was gray with a coating of dust.
"Petrified bric-a-brac. Carved clay", he continued sweating profusely, "Chiseled quarry slab.."
"I know", she cried, "he hasn't got any clothes".
He wedged his mouth close to the door jam and spoke kindly, a bit shaky:
"Please. We'll give you clothes. Sir? Your Emperorship"?