This afternoon, Gllen and I were sitting in our living room, me with my feet propped up on him, casually chatting. As cold as it was outside, there was a delicious patch of sun warming the room. Gllen patted my leg, which means he repeatedly hit it in a sort of OCD way. This released a tiny poof of dust that was only noticeable under the shaft of beaming sunlight. Pleased with the result of his actions, Gllen exclaimed "Oh! You have dusty thighs!"
I gaffawed at him, saying, "That isn't my thigh. My thighs are up here." He glanced at my leg and tried to rephrase his sentence. "You have dusty..." I waited for him to find the word... calf, leg, ankle... something in the near area that he was patting. He finished "...drumsticks."
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