This is a write up of an actual interaction between me and my guy (M.G.) earlier this evening.

Upon pulling my hair up into an elastic band, I noted how long it seemed to be getting. M.G. has been prodding me to let it grow out for years. I finally started trying in earnest last year. So, pleased with how it’s more than 1/3 down my back now when free, and past my shoulders when in a ponytail, I headed out of the bathroom to show him.I swiveled on the balls of my feet, gesturing up at my head. “Check out how long my hair is even in a ponytail.”

He was reclined on the sofa with the Playstation 3 remote control in hand (yes, the remote, not a controller), scrolling through Hulu Plus. He looked up, slightly distracted. “Ah yeah, soon you’ll be able to touch it.”

“Huh?” I asked because I was already touching it at that exact moment. Perhaps the angle was off a little. I swiveled yet further.

“Oh, I guess you can already. You’re flexible.”

“Yeah, and if I undo my hair I can do it easier.” I grabbed hold of the elastic, whipping it off so I could easily tug at my ends just above the middle of my back. “But the ends are bad. I’m going to have to get a half inch cut. She wanted to do an inch last time but I fought her.”

Back to scrolling, M.G. comments lightly, “You should tell her she can’t do more than a 1/2 inch or I’ll be cross.”

“Or you could come and be all like…” I paused to adopt a pose of arms folded over my chest, legs akimbo, and fixing a menacing stare. And then I adopted a deep voice a la my guy, “No more than a half inch off, woman.”

He glanced back from the television to catch my bad ass Dom impersonation. M.G. chuckled slightly. “I’d need a pin-striped suit…so I’d look Sicilian.”

I shook my head. “Or you could just wear all black.”

Back to the scrolling he says, “Wouldn’t that be emo?”

“Well, don’t you already wear all black? Except you have an Ironman logo in the center.” I gestured to my chest where the logo ought to be.

Without missing a beat, he retorted, “No, that’s my Arc reactor.”

I busted out at that.

It’s so rare that he gets a genuine laugh out of me that M.G. burst into this…snorting laughing that sounded a bit like he was trying to clear out the back of his throat.

I figured that was a good spot to head off to my errands so I started away, but his continued snorting prompted me to add, “I love how you snort.”

“That wasn’t snorting,” he calls after me.

“Huh? What was it?” I doubled back to get the punchline I knew would be coming.

“I burst into static.”