On the drive back to our home planet of New Hampshire after the long, chilly, windy, slightly rainy day, we were excited to get to go home and relax and were a little filled with energy and humor that had been wasted on the day.
Me: I was a little surprised to see 'grilled cheese' on the menu. Like, what kind of cheese would you like on that? Kraft. Individually wrapped.
Him: Just a block of cheese. And you have to cut it yourself.
Me: No, they just bring you two slices of bread and a cow. "Make it yourself." And the waiter is actually a cow.
I love him. He supports my bad humor and lame jokes.
And I found this snippet of conversation in my phone's notepad, but I don't remember what the context may have been:
Me: Your crotch always helps.
Him: Well, I do my best.
Coming soon is the tale of Adventures at the Movies, 2.0 where annoying little girls ruin my preview experience.