I just lent my niece my gorilla suit. In exchange, she gave me a book with a monkey on it. This was, oddly, a coincidence.

I told Brent, “It’s weird transporting a big heavy black hot gorilla suit in 86-degree weather.”

He said, “Knowing you is fun.” That’s just about the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.

(Yes, I have a gorilla suit. I bought it on a whim a couple years ago in hopes of dressing up as Blonde Venus in the "Hot Voodoo" number for a Halloween party. But instead the head sits on a coat rack, in protection of the front door, frightening food delivery people and tiny trick-or-treaters alike. I think of it as my own special brand of gargoyle. Gargorilla, perhaps?)