The real test of a relationship is when you first see her simultaneously deep in thought and brushing her teeth. Usually, she leans more towards the thought than the brushing, and her hand sort of slips about and slimey-toothpastey-ooze starts horribly dripping from every corner of the mouth. Kind of looks like she’s a quarter of the way through Christina Aguilera’s daily makeup session, as being applied by a mop. A mop fastened to a quivering chihuahua. Riding a mechanical bull.

Have a camera handy, so you can take a picture of yourself witnessing this horrific ritual. Later, you can look back and say, “Buh. Look at my face. That’s what I looked like when the magic died. And, as well, the possibility that I could ever love anyone else.”

And you want to know why you’ll say that? ‘Cause you’re WEIRD as HELL, my friend.

(shortly after writing this entry, I had to go scrub a bunch of toothpaste off the bathroom floor)