Nick's looking into joining a gym. We're sitting together on his couch while he leafs through a packet sent from the local community center. There is a new workout facility opening in Waunakee, you see, and his curiosity is piqued. "See the problem is, I'm just not motivated to go workout," he tells me. Well yes, that would be a problem, particularly when one considers joining a gym.

"I mean, money isn't a motivator," he continues. I look at him curiously...how does physical fitness inspire money? Seriously, tell me. I want to know—hell, sign me up! He explains, "I mean the, 'I paid a lot of money for a membership, I should use it' thing. Doesn't work for me." Ah. Not the explanation I was hoping for, but it made sense. For Nick.

"Because," I was enjoying the way he talked himself through his decision. He does this often. He's a champion analyzer, and his logic makes me weak-kneed. I love a common-sensical man. He squinted, as though what he was about to say would cause great discomfort and widespread comprehension both. I waited on bated breath for the conclusion while he chose his words carefully.

"Because, I paid a lot of money for this couch too," I began to squint in confusion now...until I saw his eyes begin to twinkle. "And I paid a lot of money for my TV too." Synchronized, we turned our heads toward the 42" rear projection high definition TV from our lofty position on his leather couch, and my laugh gurgled first, then gushed. He looked so serious, so down-to-business.



And, you really can't argue with his logic.

I have been feeling ever-so-slightly off as of late. Mild flu-like symptoms. I almost left work early the other day because I felt so achy and miserable...but decided instead to suck it up and infect the whole office instead. I should be given awards for my valor.

Nick, on the ever-exhausting hunt for a mission-style vanity dresser [sans mirror] to coordinate with his bedroom furniture, stopped to see me following his latest safari that day. With him, he brought Starbucks ice cream. I love Starbucks ice cream, a lovely delectability I first met under Nick's care. (So...I guess he's been somewhat  good for me.)

In reply to my ice-cream-induced glee, he pulled a small container from his coat pocket. It was one of those moments you dream about as a young girl, when the handsome man of your fantasies retrieves a purple plastic dome from his pocket, and you realize that he is the master at child-targeted claw machines. He pulled the gaudy purple "gem" from the compartment and I melted. I mean, it was ugly, but I wanted to make sure my second reaction didn't prevent me from experiencing that ice cream.

Coffee...AND ICE CREAM! Good Lord! Match made in Heaven, dude! I also tried Kahlúa for the first time Sunday evening...and I thought I didn't like alcohol! Nobody told me it could taste like coffee! Just think of what coffee could do for Robitussin!

Anyway, my second reaction passing muster, we cracked the lid on that chilly treat and I let a spoonful melt in my mouth as my eyes rolled back into my head and I took a stumbling step rearward before leaning my weight into the counter for support. "Nick, you're a God!" I muttered around the creamy delight on my tongue.

He took offense to this, stating that there are more fitting times for me to utter such statements. He kind of got a little diva-ish on me and threw his nose in the air, doing that Mick Jagger rooster walk...you know the one. I shrugged him off and took another spoon of ice cream. I'm thinking of re-gifting the unsightly necklace in recompense. Thoughts?

I am an Amazon.com-aholic, right? Right. Ok. Well, I pre-ordered the 4th Harry Potter awhile back, and it was released this past Tuesday.

Nick's been pestering, "Have you received Harry Potter yet? Have you received Harry Potter yet? Have you received Harry Potter yet?" It isn't that Nick is a fan—and it isn't even that Nick was excited to view the DVD...we just saw it a couple weekends ago at an IMAX theatre, after all. It's that Nick likes being a pest, and Nick likes poking holes in tidy little the-way-I've-always-done-it's.

"No, Nick," I exhaled Tuesday evening. "I am stodgy with shipping. I choose the lowest. I don't care when I get it." But logic rarely stands firm to someone intent on being a nuisance. I am now in receipt of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I sent the aforementioned harasser a text message this morning. "I got Harry Potter."

Thinking this a fitting way to start the day, score one air-point for Laura, and Nick left dangling to find another bit of Laura-sense to exhaust, I flipped my cell shut with a broad grin. When I heard his reply come through, I reached for my phone jerkily. Oh what did the mighty annoyer have to say now, hmm?

"Geez...is that curable?" I wiped my air-point from the space before me with the sleeve of my sweater. I'd say about a tenth...of a percent...of the time, Nick actually manages to humor me...so I ought to give him props when it occurs. It's just the right thing to do.

Brenda looked at me oddly over my snort of laughter, and I relayed the exchange. She joined the silly laughter and in reply to Nick, she volleyed in my stead, "I don't know...first I need to figure out where my potter is."