We're Adults, I Swear

We were freshly awake and cuddling contentedly in our bed this morning, Bevan and moi, when we exchanged the following words about poop.

Bevan: I've gotta go to the bathroom.

Me: No, you can't get up yet!

Bevan: I'm sorry but I can't help it, I'm like clockwork.

Me: A clockwork brown.

Bevan: A clockwork turd!

A full minute of raucous, uncontrollable laughter ensued.

Me (catching my breath): That was dumb.

Wearing His Truth

We're enjoying nightcaps at the Midnight Sun in the Castro right now, B, Dan, Jim, Mario, Steve and I, where a few minutes ago I felt an unflappable compulsion to ask the handsome gentleman seated a few tables over from us if he would kindly trade shirts with me. Although he politely declined, he did allow me to take a picture with him and the shirt I was coveting.

Praise For "Bevan in a Onesie"

Earlier this week B asked if I'd join him on the sofa for a little Gilmore Girls action and I said I had stuff to do but that I'd be willing to set that stuff aside and watch with him under one condition—if we did so in onesies.

Although he wasn't jazzed about the idea of squeezing into a pair of my pajamas initially, his love for the peculiar population of Stars Hollow (he's secretly got the hots for Kirk) won out and in the end he relented.

While he was caught up in the episode (the one where Dean dumps Rory at the 24-hour dance-off in front of the whole town) I surreptitiously snapped the above photo and uploaded it to this web log and the next day the following Gchat convo between myself and my friend Kari took place.

For whatever reason our exchange made me think that Bevan's reluctance to wear a onesie would make a good kid's book and that Kari's comments would work well as the quotes on the back of the book's jacket and then all of a sudden Photoshop was open on my desktop and, well, this happened.

Unfortunately, I don't have any valuable takeaways from whatever this post was about except maybe that my Photoshop skills aren't as sharp as they once were and also that apparently people in Canada will be fine paying a massive premium for a copy of my made-up book about a grown man whose much-younger boyfriend manipulated him into dressing up like an elephant to watch a television show that went off the air a decade ago.