Mini Me

I recently referred to Asher as my doppelganger, honestly believing that this was hyperbole. 

... And then Bryan and I found this picture from Asher's camera.

  Keep staring at it. Eventually the two faces will merge into one. Seamlessly.

Bryan was honestly a little freaked out. And he sees us both every single day. Together.

Eerie. Genetics are eerie.

Two in the morning

Punk and her mister scramble into a bed layered with blankets. The sheet is cold, and the mister grumbles and curls into a fetal position. Punk squinches her numb feet between his calves.

Punk: You know what we should have?

Mister: Sex?

Punk: ...Okay. No, what I was going to say was that it would be great if we had one of those old-fashioned heat iron thingies, like from Little House on the Prairie. It would warm up the bed before we have to get in it.

Mister: No. Maybe an electric blanket?

Punk (shuddering at the thought): Uh, which would get used like five nights of the year? Not to mention how I would be sweating at three in the morning, and then there would be anger and fighting in the middle of the night.

Mister (considering the fighting and anger in the middle of the night): ...Yeah. It probably wouldn't be very good for us. I guess not.

Punk: And by "good for us," you mean our marriage as a whole, right?

Mister: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....

Punk: Chahead.