Gin and tonic glows under blacklight. This was an accidental discovery when I was 21, and now, at 39, it's still a motivating factor in my choice of beverage. No, I don't keep a portable cum-detecting crime scene lamp handy just to make my drink glow, but it's the knowing that makes it special.
I forget entirely which X-Men film it was, possibly even the first, but there's a point at which Magneto very tiredly gives Xavier a kind of [Exasperated in Gay] Look and delivers that line, "You don't understand, Charles," as if he were speaking to something with a minimal chance of grasping his vast intellect, like a sea sponge, or a chihuahua. I genuinely don't recall how it happened, but "You don't understand, Charles" became a common method of gently telling one another, "This is goofy as fuck but I don't want to explain it right now" between Mrs. Fox and I, so. I bring it before you now, like a dead mouse on your doorstep, and smile like a fucking imbecile. Abject orange cat behavior. Which of course, if you don't get... well.
You don't understand, Charles.
[Exasperated in Gay]
