Did you know that the two colors in Slim's black-and-white plastic serving spoon have different melting temperatures? And the white plastic melts much faster? And looks like marshmallow when it does melt? Neither did I. This is why she doesn't let me cook for her.

Slim: Why did you buy a book on Christian pop culture?
Me: It's an ironic knowing look by a secular Jew, and looked humorous.
Slim: I grew up in Texas. I can give you critiques of Christian pop culture.
Me: It's by a blogger I read, and he was looking for a one-day push in sales, so for a few bucks I supported him. He'll buy my book one day.
Slim: That's completely unenforceable. You're just revealing yourself to be a sucker.

We're watching the beginning of Double Indemnity.

Slim: Is he shot?
Me: What? In the shoulder? He's holding his arm funny. Maybe. It's not colorized, so I can't tell.
Slim: There isn't a lot of blood.
Me: It was 1944. Less blood then. There was wartime rationing.

Slim: Readin' my blog?
Slim (singing off-key): Readin' my blog... way to say you love me, reading my blog.
Me: You're weirder than a Truck-O-Saurus. A defective Truck-O-Saurus. With 85,000 documents from In re Truck-O-Saurus Product Liability Litigation.

Whenever I see a post like this, it's a sign that we're about to get rid of six shelf-feet of books.

"There Will Be Blood" (thumbs up), otherwise scored atonally by a Radiohead member, ends with Brahms Violin Concerto in D Major (3rd Movement) and Slim and I made up words for the closing theme which we sang to each other throughout the mall:

There will be blood!
There will be blood!
There will be blood blood blood blood blood!

Relatedly: IDrinkYourMilkshake.com, which would be a lot cooler if it didn't play the same ten-second snippet every time you open a new page. And a Draiiiiiiinage! MP3.

On the car ride home:
Slim: We should contract with someone to kill us if we buy a Range Rover.
Me: I'm not sure we need the additional disincentive. Even if we did, Virginia tax law provides plenty of financial disincentive not to buy a Range Rover.
Slim: There was a Stephen King short story about quitting smoking—
Me: Yeah, they made a movie out of it.
Slim: Oh, really?
Me: It had, um, whatshisname, as the head of the company. Alan King.
Slim: Who's Alan King?
Me: Alan King! He's the guy who played the guy in that Stephen King movie.

Slim: Don't forget to pick up the packages from the front office.
Me: I'll pick up the packages.
Slim: They're the knitting needles I ordered. I want my knitting needles!
Me: You just want to stab me in the heart with your knitting needles.
Slim: I already have knives if I want to stab you in the heart.

Slim ends up in the Washingtonian before I do.

Slim's paragliding photos came out much better than mine did.

Strangely, though it was long an idiosyncratic domestic fantasy of mine that I would sit with my partner and do the Times crossword together—so much so that for years my Internet-dating personal ad name-checked Eugene Maleska—I hadn't broached the possibility with Slim in the nearly two years we've been dating, probably because the eight previous years of dating was absent of anyone up to the task and I had largely forgotten about it. So it was a pleasant surprise picking up an International Herald Tribune in Switzerland for a long train-ride, tackling the crossword puzzle for the first time in years after running out of articles to read, and discovering that Slim and I could complete the Thursday (and then the Sunday) puzzles together, and now we're doing a puzzle almost every night.

On the same train-ride, Slim belittled my use of sudoku to pass the time, but within 36 hours, she'd expropriated my book and ended up spending most of the sixteen-hour trip home working on puzzles.

Slim: Look! I reorganized the bathroom!
Me (looking in garbage): You threw out my brush!
Slim: It's not your brush. It had blonde hair in it.
Me: It doesn't mean it's not my brush. It just means a blonde used my brush.
Slim: Many, many, many times. It had lots of blonde hair.
Me: Where did you find it?
Slim: In one of the drawers.
Me: It must have been my ex-wife's. How can you throw that away? It's the only thing I have to remember her by.*
Slim: Look in your wallet.
Me: Huh?
Slim: Remember her by looking in your wallet and seeing how there's less money than there should be.

*That, and the maple syrup.

Slim: It's a good thing you don't have psychic powers.
Me: Why's that?
Slim: 'Cause the drivers in the cars in front of you would be swerving off the road or having their heads explode.
Me: Maybe my psychic powers are more subtle. Maybe I'm giving them extremely painful and slow-to-develop cancer that will strike them later.
Slim: I don't think so. If your psychic powers could give people cancer, you're a profit-maximizer and would use the power to cure cancer.
Me: But perhaps my psychic abilities are limited and entropic only.
Slim: ...
Me: There, I've wrapped rings around you logically.