|The Imp wanted an angry face. I did the best I could.|
Today our lone remnant of Halloween, The Imp's jack-o'-lantern, sat on the kitchen table, its scorched insides starting to emit fruit fly-attracting odours.
HWSNBN: Maybe I should take this whole thing out into the hallway and just pitch it down the garbage chute.
Me, looking at our balcony: Dude, if we are going to throw a 14 inch pumpkin down 21 stories, I want to see it smash at the bottom.
HWSNBN, beaming: That, right there, is why I married you.
(I wish, oh how I wish, that I could report that we did, in fact, chuck old Jack over the balcony railing. Alas, death of an innocent by pumpkin from above is frowned upon and legal counsel advised against it.)