My husband now believes that if I ever leave him, he will have a bevy of Pretty Rambo groupies lining up to audition as my replacement. So listen up, ladies: he may be funny and clever and bearded, but he has his dark side. To wit:
He’s a talented impersonator, but he will never impersonate on command. This is maddening. Try telling him to do his Christopher Walken when you’re out with friends. He will not.
He knows more about B- and C-list actors from the '60s to the '80s than you could imagine. He can tell you the entire professional biography of Blue-Uniformed Guy #4 in Episode 38 of Star Trek, and then he will. Sometimes you’ll be trying to sleep while he’s telling you. Imagine it.
Hope that he never gets pink eye in your lifetime. According to Scott, pink eye is the dreaded scourge of this and any century, the Worst Affliction Ever. Once, while we were watching television, Scott turned to me and said, “My eye itches.” Then he paused to rub his eye. “Wow, my eye really itches,” he said. Then I watched him as he continued: “My eye really itches. Now that I think of it, both eyes itch. [Pause for frantic blinking.] MY EYES REALLY ITCH. Shit! Shit! I have pink eye! Shit! I can’t believe this! [More rubbing and blinking and shouting] I have pink eye! This is terrible! Don’t laugh! My eyes really itch! [Pause]… wait, wait. I think it’s okay. [blinking] Maybe they’re just itchy. They’re… yeah, they’re okay. Whew. I really thought I had pink eye. [looks at me] What’s so funny?”
You have been warned.