“I’m bored,” my husband said. “I’m going out for a bit.” I looked up from my laptop. “Alright,” I said. “I’m still writing, see you when you get back.” Two hours later, he comes home, with this. And an apology (“I was going to get you a deerstalker, but I know your head is massive and I didn’t want it to be too small”). And this, my friends, is why I married him.