We’re at the Art Institute, and I’ve grown too warm in my wool coat. Nick reaches out to hold my purse as I shrug from the garment, and I chuckled at the picture he presents.

I borrow his camera and instruct him to nonchalantly regard the artwork as I frame the shot. “Nick: Whipped” I caption verbally. A good sport, he poses patiently while I figure out his camera, shooting once with flash (..and knowing TRUE fear, envisioning a round with the art preservationist firing squad…) and shooting video during attempt number two.

“Is this going to make The Lore?” he questions. He has always referred to this blog as such. I shrug in response.

We reviewed pictures days later in a slideshow, and I began to smirk as I realized the aforementioned picture was coming soon in the rotation. It illuminated the screen and I said something smug about Nick’s whipped-ness—which is more humorous when you consider that this is the man whose voice grew hoarse yelling “DEFENSE!” at a Badger basketball game who was now digitally immortalized holding my purse with a negligently saucy and slightly diva-inspired flair.

My smirk became more verbal as I imagine scenarios in my all too vivid imagination, and in little time my words could only bob incoherently amid the currents of my laughter.

“Oh yeah, ‘Look at Nick. He’s so whipped holding a purse,’” he mimicked, and I could tell he had a retort on the wings. “’…and staring at a painting of naked women...’”

Hmm. Yes. That does seem to cause some disagreement with the overall theme I was going for.