Okay. Where do I begin?
B prefers to shave his head, especially in the summer months. During the winter, he'll let it grow out some, but will shave when he has to dress up. (No, that is not really what his hair looks like when he grows it. Yes, he's showing a few "thin" spots, but nothing like this). So...He went up to shave in preparation for one of the 55 gazillion Christmas-type obligations we had when he came downstairs with the hood of his sweatshirt up and says: "How much do you love me?" To which my answer always is: "What did you do?" Then he says: "Will you love me when I'm old?" And, of course, I said: "You are old. What did you do?" He proceeds to drop the hood and I thought I was going to die from laughter. I wish we would have had somewhere to go where people would have appreciated what he'd done because it's way funnier than this picture, or my story. He shaved not long after, leaving only the photographic memory behind, which is funny enough. Or not. Maybe you have to know him for it to be funny. I don't know.
Anyway. On this same night, he'd stopped for champagne to toast the signing of The Shape of Love contract. As he popped the cork, it hit the ceiling and then ricocheted back onto his head. Which brought more hysterical laughter from me - so much so I couldn't even croak out enough words to ask if he was okay. Heck. I couldn't even breathe. (My sister did a very similar thing before a wedding, only the cork caught her right between the eyes and left a bloody mark. It's a long story that I don't think she appreciates me spreading around, besides, it's much funnier told in person)
And that's all I have for this unseasonably warm Monday.