My husband, the walking contradiction, in two Acts:
Have you ever been Metro? Have you ever tried?
Sam went to work late last night, coming home long after I was asleep, then I gave him the fussy, possibly teething baby at 4:00 this morning. So at 7:30, he wasn't so much ready to be awake. He huddled under a blanket on the couch, desperately trying to snatch a few more minutes of shut-eye. While I sympathized, I couldn't decide which shoes to wear, so I came downstairs wearing a different shoe on each foot and nudged him, "Honey, I need your help." He rolled over and opened one eye. I picked up one foot at a time and asked him which shoe he thought looked better. Now, any other man on the planet would have thrown something at me. Sam perked up and replied, "Ooh, you really can't go wrong. Those both look good."
Shave and a haircut: two bits.
Sam grows out his hair and beard every winter, but this year he started early, and it has become too much for me. Much, much too much. I expect every day to come home to find him skinning jackrabbits or splitting logs or whatever people with that much hair on their heads do. The other day, Paolo was sitting on Sam's lap and discovered a piece of candy nestled in his beard. It was a Nerd from the box I gave Sam for Christmas, so who knows how long it had been in there. Paolo picked it right out and ate it. I suggested that, seeing how our child was eating food out of his face, he might consider a trim. He is deaf to my pleas, however. He has committed to this look, and I may be married to a Sasquatch until spring.