Sometime in the '80s, I went on a date with some schmuck who shushed me when I laughed in his bedroom in his mommy's house. There's so much wrong with that scenario, just seeing the words in front of me, that I can't believe I allowed anything to progress on what was probably a twin bed decked out in poly-blend sheets festooned with cowboys and/or rocketships. I just looked him up on Facebook (because of course I remember his name). What a surprise that he's now a dusty shlub with a beige wife. They look like a barrel of laughs.