Beard optimization

I was trying to give Yuan Yuan's face carpet burn with my (2nd day) 5 o'clock shadow today but she just giggled like the Pillsbury doughboy. I told her how when I was little my dad used to hug me and rub his neatly trimmed beard on my face and how it would always take me days to regrow my face afterwards and how I dreamed about having a coarse bristly beard like that when I got older so I could ambush strangers in the street and rub their faces raw with my thorny beard but how so far I hadn't gotten very far with this dream at all and how she'd probably have better luck rubbing her barely hairful Asian legs on people's faces. Then I realized that the tiny grain of truth in my story was nearly invisible behind the cotton candy sphere of imagination that I was weaving around it. Then I started trying really hard to believe in the imagined version, so that next time I could remember it as "the real story." I can't believe we use people's testimony as evidence. You might as well ask a complete stranger to imagine what might have happened.

"Do you solemnly swear to imagine the whole truth and nothing but the truth?"
"Absolutely not."
"Damn. Anyway, be advised that anything you imagine can and will be used against the defendant."


Yuan Yuan is the queen of disproportionate responses:

(walking outside)
YY suddenly jumps and shrieks like a squirrel being stretched in the 5th dimension. I frantically whip around and check her fingernails for any needles that may have worked their way under them by accident.
Me: what wrong??
YY: I just remembered! WE'RE OUT OF PICKLES!


Me: that word I taught you earlier, it was wrong. It means bian lun, not zheng lun.
YY: k, write down bian for me.
Me: how bout I write the first stroke (of the character) and you write the rest. (the first stroke is a dot)
YY: ok, but if you put the dot in the wrong place, I'll kill you.
Me: how can the first stroke be in the wrong place?
YY: shake on it?


YY: my mom is coming to Beijing to work.
Me: hmm?
YY: we have to break up. Or one of us has to die.


And the most ridiculous to date...
Me: f u!
YY: f u!
Me: (cries)

(don't forget to adjust for my creative memory)