My husband has spent the day telling everyone that the hole in his shirt was caused by belly button fuzz friction. The science of this phenomenon involves time, fuzz, and old t-shirts. Apparently this cannot be avoided and is simply the price he has to pay for being such a fantastic fuzz producer.
The UPS man who came to the door today avoided eye contact with me while I signed for my package. I wasn't sure why until I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror afterward. Horrifying. My husband helpfully informed me, "I'm sure he's seen worse today."
Last night I found out my neighbor works for Nerdist (Chris Hardwick). He doesn't know I know. He also doesn't know I watched all the videos he was in for a half hour last night. He sure doesn't know that I couldn't remember his name (because I call all my neighbors "Doug," even the ones I've lived next to for over ten years). And he hopefully doesn't know that my daughter called me a stalker.
I'm not a stalker. Nope.
I am, however, ridiculous and will probably smile stupidly the next time I see him. He won't know why. It will be weird.
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