The surprises never cease to…well…surprise me…

Last night, Trevor came home with a card for me.

I was SUPER excited about it. After all, living with him for the past week has proven “tricky”. In my mind, thoughts of sappy, romantic cards were reigning supreme. The kind of card where Trevor would apologize for putting a dirty plunger in the kitchen sink, or promise to work with me to correct our (apparent) communication problem. Maybe even something sweet and simple like:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
I may be an idiot,
But I still love you.

The potential for cheese-ball, Hallmark love was great, and I ripped into the envelope with a heightened sense of anticipation (thinking: He loves me! He really LOVES me!).

Here is what was waiting for me on the inside:

Front Cover - “Farting is an art form…”

Inside - “…Happy Belated Birthday, Rembrandt.”