The Albert Einstein School Of Rejects

Me to the Husband: Aw, your birthday's soon. How old are you going to be?
Him: 58?
Me: No, your brother is going to be 58, you're going to be 57. Don't even know when you were born. You pitiful pitiful man. Where do you want to go? To a restaraunt?
Him: Sure. I like to eat.
Me: Before you go anywhere you need to do something with that hair. I don't like my men ungroomed. It's all floppy and wild. You look like Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium. You look like you came from The Albert Einstein School of Rejects.
Him: The Albert Einstein School of Rejects. We're all losers, relatively speaking.


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