Dylan was cheerfully showering so I snuck in quietly and watched him awhile. He was all covered in suds and happily humming to himself while luxuriously massaging his scalp. Dude was acting like he was in a hair commercial, peddling high grade body wash and shampoo, or some shit. His eyes were trustingly tightly shut, all blithe innocence. I hunched down sneaky full ninja, approached him, and soundlessly slid the glass door aside. Then, with a great flourish of suddenness and menace, I grabbed both his ankles fast and hard. Dylan made a delayed reaction loud terrified whooping sound, like a scared and fainting woman, pure blind vulnerability and total fear. His terror and upset were quiveringly real. I wish I had this gold moment captured on film. Dylan was furious when he peaked open his eyes and saw me clutching my stomach from laughing so hard. “You’re gonna get it, lady!” he roared. I waved his words away, still chuckling too enormous and deep to speak. “Ha, ha, ha!” I said. Dylan gazed daggers at me. I was pretty much crying as much as laughing, and for a substantial period. The best romances don’t end happily, and the greatest love stories are tragedies. We might be an exception to this bleak rule, at least we’ve made it this far, we’re still laughing a lot, and we do try. Effort is as important as fate. It’s always much funnier though when I scare Dylan than when he scares me. Scaring me is too easy, scaring Dylan is the bee’s knees. Or ankles. Who knew ankles could offer such an unexpected depth of comedy.