Yesterday was a pretty nice day, so I cajoled Henry into going for a walk in the cemetery with me and Chooch. He was pretty equivocal about it at first, because even something as normal-sounding as a “walk” or “stroll” can lead to certain headaches, arguments and popo run-ins when I’m involved.

Nothing like a nice Jamaican Lager in the boneyard.

A view through Henry’s new glasses. At first they made him look like BTK, but they’ve grown on me. He’s at least halfway to aging scene king now.

I forgot about how INTO NATURE Henry can be. Within two minutes, he had pointed out deer, turkey and squirrels before turning his attention skyward in search of birds.

“LOOK, THERE IS A WOODPECKER, OMG!” he cried desperately at one point, and I had about ten year’s worth of cemetery-walk flash backs, most notably the unlimited minutes he spent schooling me about moss in ’04. Get a fucking life with your nature shit.

Inspecting a dumping ground for what I embarrassingly mistook for rocks but were really STONES (rookie mistake, really), Henry shook his head in disbelief and said to no one in particular, “I can’t believe they’d just dump those stones there. Those are EXPENSIVE stones. THEY ARE CUT STONE AND MARBLE!”

That is the sort of guy I’m dating, the one who knows the difference between a mere skipping pebble and EXPENSIVE STONES, yet it gets us nowhere.

Imagine your town molester, taking a break from copping feels to amble slowly through the park, hands clasped behind his back and smiling sweetly to himself while his unmarked white van idles sinisterly in front of the middle school down the street.

There, now you know what Outdoors Henry look like!

Henry must have been getting under Chooch’s skin as well, because I overheard him quietly cantillating at one point, “Zombies/Come kill my dad/He’s annoying me.”

My favorite place in the whole wide world.