Briancentric

“He looked liked Danny Devito as the Penguin.” my boyfriend informed me this morning as we looked over pictures of his late father. Coming from Brian, “Danny Devito as the Penguin” is truly an endearment of sentiment and the utmost respect, though, truthfully, Brian wasn't really exaggerating. Brian's dad was a big man with long, grey, disheveled hair that didn't grow on the top of his head, but only one the sides and back like Gallagher. Brian loved and misses his dad. I wish I could have met him. Brian says he would have picked on me relentlessly, because that's what his dad did when he liked someone. “He used to wear suspenders with sweatpants.” Brian informed me. “Nearly every day.”

Now I am sitting across from Brian. We are at the coffee shop. I am working on this column. He is planning his next Dungeons and Dragons adventure while I occasionally remind him to wipe the droplets of foam from his drink (“Whatever has the most caffeine and chocolate in it.”) out of his overgrown mustache. Previous attempts of reminding him to just trim the mustache has only been met with resistance. He is wearing dark aviator glasses that he thinks make him look tough. Apparently, being over six feet tall and having wrists as thick as my ankles isn't doing the whole trick. He is also sporting his very favorite shorts. These shorts... are not my favorite shorts. They are ugly to begin with, and now, due to continuous wear, they need to be worn with gym shorts underneath just so Brian doesn't get carted away for one form of indecency or another. Oh yeah, and these shorts were hand-made by one of Brian's best guy friends and they are made almost entirely out of pieces of scrap material taken from couches. No kidding. Couches.

Oh gosh. Now he is air drumming to the music in his headphones. Oh. Now he is taking my pen that I got at the zoo with a hand-carved skunk on the top and he is making really loud, obnoxious skunk noises right here in the middle of the coffee shop. We are not the only people here.

And now he is making munching noises to the Bobcat machine outside our window that is digging up the patio slab for whatever reason. “Omnomnomnomnom. Ooh! Look at it dig! It'd be cool if it rolled down the hill! Thump-a-dump-a-dump-a-dump! Woah! Look at that! That's awesome! There's another Bobcat, honey! This one's bigger! Omnomnomnomnom! Baby! This is like a real-life video game! The Bobcat operator has a joystick and everything! Woah! That's so cool! Those Bobcats look like their eating big concrete slabs of cookie! Man! These operators are really good! It would be way funnier if they didn't know what they were doing.” Yes. We are definitely getting disapproving looks now from the other coffee shop patrons.

Now he is back to playing with my skunk pen and bobbing his head to his music.

The more I realize to what extent I am dating a thirty-year-old, hyperactive man-child, the more I love him. He matches my shyness with sound effects. He deals with his losses with humor. He trumps my embarrassment by making me laugh. And on the most groggy and unrested of Sunday afternoons, when I'm stressed because my weekend has been filled with obligations, none of which included getting my sore feet rubbed, he makes me loosen up and realize life is not all about being serious. Life is about sweatpants, skunk pens and the appreciation of talented Bobcat operators.