How can a grown and mature man somehow keep his clear-eyed innocence and boyish antics? I have no idea, but Mr. Squire somehow does it.
Yesterday, as he was walking me to the train in the morning, we talked about J.K. Rowling's ingenuity in writing the Harry Potter series. The following conversation ensued:
Mr. Squire: I love the names she used. You always learned something new. Like Delores Umbrage?
Me: Oh, like "I take umbrage with..."?
Mr. Squire: Yeah. And like...what was the name of the wolf guy? Lupin? Has something to do with the moon?
Me: Right. And Slytherin sounds like slithering--like a snake...
Mr. Squire: Hufflepuff sounds like a brain.
Me: What was the name of that thing...the Deciding Hat?
Mr. Squire (in obvious fake but adorable frustration): It's the Sorting Hat! Geez, I can't take you to Harry Potter World in Florida next month! Sigh!
He cracks me up. I love how he knows the Harry Potter series (and many other children's book series) inside and out.
That is all. I love my husband.
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