2002-06-21 - 5:22 p.m.

On the internal soundtrack: "Ice, Ice Baby", Vanilla Ice

So, Poindexter hasn't cut his hair since March 17th. It's starting to get floppy. The longer it gets, the more his wife can't keep her hands off him. I'd feel guilty about not having that reaction to the short hair as well, except that he says he finds me more desirable with longer hair too.

Yesterday I happened to see him waiting crossing the street on his way home from work. I picked up the binocs and looked at him for a while. I yelled "Hey, Good-Lookin'!" but the traffic noises were too loud and nobody seemed to hear.

It's funny, because when he's deep in thought, working, or doing chores, his whole face looks deeply, terribly sad. It used to worry me -- I'd think something was wrong -- but I've seen his actual sad face and it looks different. So now I just think his deep-in-thought face is really adorable.

With the combination of that and his hair and a favorite outfit he was wearing that day, he was hotness personified. So when he came into the apartment, I said, "C'mere, you" and lunged for him.

He jumped, mock fearfully, and ran away.

Alas, there isn't far for him to go, so I ended up chasing him in a circle defined by the foot of the bed and the space in front of it. Somehow, chasing is just not the same in a 250-square-foot room. When we had a house, I used to chase him as far as up the stairs.

Anyway. There's no point to any of this, except that it's fun and we laugh. Eventually he surrendered and I pinned him down and gave him fifty-six kisses or so.

On Tuesday, Poindexter had to go to a meeting a couple of hours away. I didn't really know what time he'd be home. Around 5pm, though -- the earliest I could have expected him -- every time I heard a noise out in the hall, my heart would leap in my chest. "Is he home?!"

I told him about it when he did finally get back. I hope I always feel that way about him.

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