Nothing rhymes with “papaya scent.”

Last night I said, “You make me glow like a sparrow.”

“Sparrows don’t glow.”

“Like the ghost of a sparrow.”

“Oh, that kind of sparrow.”

“You make me glow like a dead sparrow,” I said, pleased.

“I try.”

I showered in his shower for the first time yesterday. It was amazingly painless for a boy shower, though I did have to deal with the standard boy-shower lack of good shampoo products and the dark, boring-colored towel. On the other hand, boy towels are ginormous. I spent the whole shower trying to compose a song about how you know it’s love when the girl gives in and starts bringing her own, more attractively packaged, better smelling shower gels and products into your bathroom. I kept trying to rhyme “aloe vera” with “care.”

One nice thing about the Lad: it was so easy to avoid the pitfall of using the roommates’ shower stuff, since I could just follow the trail of generic items until I got to his shelf. He has no brand loyalty to anything. For me, this is the equivalent of dating someone who was born without fingerprints.