The Mathematics of Glamour

Humor changes with every person, every height, and every culture.

But come on mate, who does not chuckle when you wake up next to a Pirate?  A LEGO Pirate … with just the right splattering of stubble.  I have always been a fan of facial hair.

My squiffy pirate joined my life last Friday after a visit to F.A.O. Schwartz. I had wanted LEGO loot back in me life for a long time, and I finally bought the booty.

As soon as I got back to my ship slash apartment, I immediately dived into the bucket of adventure.

The creative juices were squirting all over the place, and I built my dream house with multiple floors and an ideal outdoor living space for Dandy Lions, millipedes, and sunlight.

Blimey! One block got loose, and half of me house crumbled to the floor. I tried not to get irritated, but at that point I went to the kitchen and poured a glass of spirits for me-self.

Building, building, stacking, building. Memories flowed. Back when I was a lass, I was in fact a LEGO Master.

Yo-ho-ho! The house crumbled again.  Another sip of spirits. Or two. Or three.

I had originally thought the night would be relaxing, but I was getting fussy. I mean – I remember my castles breaking here and there when I was a lass, but I did not remember such frustration.  Sitting on my bed, as an adult, I felt more immature and impatient than ever. I gave up on my dream house with my sexy pirate. I walked away.

An hour passed. I could not ignore the fact that me pirate needed a home. And I had an empty shelf waiting. The coffee mug was not suitable for any matey of mine. I strutted my sea-legs back to my bucket of toys. And damnit, I built.

Look at the handsome home.

I do need ye to help me with a name for me stubbly mate. Does my pirate look like a Rufus or Billy? Suggestions welcome. Aye?