Fact: Cats love the smell of Aveda products. Toonses used to go all Old Country Buffet all over my melon whenever I got a haircut. Hal followed suit last night, going uvula deep on a bunch of strands, only stopping when Chuck tried to take a photo. What you can't see here is that he is digging his claws into my scalp.
GONNA MAKE YOU SWEAT(S)
There was a brief flurry of dialogue in the wee hours of Sunday morning about whether I was wearing sweatpants in Gary New Duluth. It was never really solved and today Tuska asked me for the truth behind my mystery pants.
"Funny you should ask," I said. "I'm wearing them right now."
Then I described them for her in not-quite great enough details. When she couldn't quite get the gist, I had my friend Dude, a professional photographer, snap a shot of them. So now the fanciest photograph I've ever had taken is just of a pair of pants. (This is not the photo I sent Tuska. I sent her the one with camel toe because then it would be both informative and comic gold).
The other day my friend Chrissie sent me this:
Me: Roasted cauliflower reminds me of dinner at my grandparent's house.
Chuck: Roasted cauliflower smells like The Great Depression.
Chuck: Roasted cauliflower tastes like a Charles Dickens' novel.