Ingredients:

1 Star Trek:TNG apéritif
2 fingers Oban
1 (each) chaser Buffy and Notting Hill

Result: one very amusing evening. Day Three of vacation for the worn-out engineer, in fact. By 9:30, Jeff was laughing at all of my jokes, not just the funny ones.We've gotten a little spoiled in the past few weeks; our exposure to TV commercials is fairly limited now that we have a TiVo to speed through them. Tonight we picked up on the tail end of Notting Hill, and had no buffer to zap through commercials.

So he (see Oban) and I (see mental tiredness from finishing new cat.net skin) watched commercials, and made fun of them with the best middle-of-the-evening gusto we could muster.

Until we got to the inexplicable commercial, that is. Seemingly unconnected images flashed by. It took us a few seconds before we both realized that every shot was zeroing in on the hindquarters of the people we were watching.

"What is this, a butt commercial?"

"No idea."

Then the Commercial Gods saw fit to clue us in. Simultaneously, we figured it out: ahhhh, a toilet paper commercial. We turned to each other and said, simultaneously: "Hit that one right on the … butt." (At least the after-statement groaning noises were simultaneous, too.)

You know you've been married too long when not only do you finish each other's sentences, but you also make up the same bad jokes on the fly.

See what you single folk have to look forward to? Think of it! Years and years of sentence-finishing fun! How can you stand to wait a moment longer before getting yourself in the same situation?