Unable To Shave A Life

(My fiancée has come to enjoy my rough cheeks when I go without shaving for a few days, and refers to my cheeks at that stage as a separate entity named ‘Scruffy’. However, ‘Scruffy’ is starting to itch and drive me mad, so I shave, and apparently miss a bit…)

Fiancée: “Okay, baby. I’m off to school. I may or may not be home, depending on how long my anatomy test is.”

Me: “Okay, my love. I’ll see you later.”

Fiancée: *rubs my cheek* “Nooo! Scruffy’s gone! I was going to rub him for good luck!”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. But he had to go.””

Fiancée: *rubbing my neck* “Ooh…you left his legs behind!”

Me: “Yes, I dismembered Scruffy.”

Fiancée: “Poor Scruffy. You killed him and left his legs.”

Me: “You’re insane.”

Fiancée: “Yes, but you love me.”

Me: “That I do.”

Fiancée: “And I love you…Scruffy killer.” *sniffles* “Poor Scruffy.”