The love of my life is too observant.

'Vy do you smile?' she asked the other night in her heavy Romanian. I looked up expecting to see the Count from Sesame Street.

'Huh?'

'Vy are you smiling? Vut are you zeenking about?'

I'll admit, I have a vivid imagination. And not just vivid in the sense that the paths of my daydreams lead in all sorts of (sometimes filthy) directions. Vivid in the sense that my body, particularly my facial expressions, often betrays that I'm in a far better place.

'Was I smiling?'

'Da. And not just leetle smile. Beeg smile with back teeth. Like voolf over sheep.'

Like 'wolf over sheep'? WTF?

'I was not smiling. I was, er, grimacing. My stomach hurts.'

'Nu, you vere smiling. And geegling a leetle.'

'Okay, now I think I would have known if I was geegling.'

'Da. Geegling. Like crazy bald man.'

'Dr. Evil?'