Wednesday, May 21, 2008

I'm gone not even four days, and this is what I come home to

I returned to Denver yesterday and waited DIA an extra two hours while Guy returned from a business trip. It was rather nice, really, just sitting and reading a magazine and drinking a latte and having absolutely nothing to do. I agree with my sister's comments to yesterday's post, which is that we need moe time together when I do the lecture next year. I might see if I can come out again this year other than a holiday, but I'm not sure when. It's great to hang out in Small Town and just enjoy Kitty's company, drinking coffee and flipping through remodeling magazines and farting on each other. Though dear Gawd did she drop some bombs on me without even giving me a courtesy "incoming!" or anything of the sort. I had my mouth open and everything.

So, Guy calls and says he's off the plane and will meet me at the terminal where the bridge to Concourse A connects, and I go to meet him. He strides down the wide walkway, and I realize...he's shaved his goatee.

Here's the thing: Guy looks good with a goatee. It looks so good that my family and I call it the Guytee. It's mostly brownish with a little bit of gray and red sprinkled in. He looks like George Clooney's stunt double. I convinced him to grow the Guytee around Christmas, and he threatened to shave it right after. However, upon showing up at work with said Guytee, every woman in the office gushed how gooooood it looked on him. So he's had it for nearly six months.

Until I'm gone for a long weekend, then the SOB shaves it off. I greeted him in the airport with "Smoochybear! I missed you! You shaved off your Guytee, you bastard!" He started laughing.

"I'll grow it back this weekend when we go camping!" he replied, but I held up my hand.

"Too late!" I shot back in mock insult. "The damage is done! I'm too wounded! Carry me to the car!"

Guy shrugged with a sly smile. "I'll drag you, how's that?"

What a romantic.

1 comment:

faded said...

You two have a wonderful relationship.