Merry Deathmas!

My dear husband is sometimes bashful about the discrepancy between his normal, everyday, hipster-geek-gamer-developer closet, and his going home, visiting family wardrobe. (For example, he’ll take out his signature brushed steel and orange enamel hoop earrings when we dine with my father.) But his moms are used to his vast array of different skull shirts by now.

So I was pretty damn tickled when, as we sat down to fancy Christmas dinner chez his more formal stepmother, this was the butter dish that confronted us. (I’m actually pretty disappointed that I’m the one who noticed this and called it out, instead of letting him or someone else pipe up when they saw Skully McCenterpiece! Sigh, curse my knee-jerk enthusiasm.)

So you can imagine I was also tickled when, at brunch a few days later, this was the platter of Christmas Butter that awaited us. (Turns out the story is that they were left over from Halloween — don’t worry, stored in an air-tight container and all that.)