The moment this morning when I became aware that I was awake was when I heard a strange noise from somewhere through the wall. It was a high staccato sort of humming or buzzing sound, possibly organic and possibly mechanical. I lifted my head to hear it more clearly.

"Typewriter," murmured Pär, lying semi-awake next to me.

"I think it's a bird that sounds like a typewriter," I said, trying to hear it again.

"I think it's a typewriter that sounds like a typewriter," Pär said. "It is Humorous Patty, typing humorously."

"Everything Humorous Patty does is humorous," I said.

"Come lie on my chest," Pär said, pulling the sheets aside.

I moved towards him and snuggled up onto his chest. He put his arms around me.

"I'm sorry I'm smelly," he said. "I didn't shower yesterday."

"You're not smelly," I said, truthfully. He smelled good. It reminded me that I had forgotten to put my bathrobe in the wash, the red hooded robe that Pär puts on to play Tomte (the Swedish Santa Claus) every year. "I hope Tomte won't mind that my robe is smelly," I added. "Although he probably won't notice, what with him coming from the wilds of the North Pole and hanging out with reindeer and all."

"He comes from Kansas, Karen," Pär said.

I paused, trying to figure out if he was referring to some obscure branch of the ancient Scandanavian legend. Kansas. ...No, it really couldn't be. "Tomte comes from Kansas?"

"Oh, Tomte! I thought you said Tonto!"

I thought carefully, again. I'm not all up on my Lone Ranger lore, but this still didn't sound quite right. "Tonto comes from Kansas?"

"Yes. The dog."

"Toto!"

"Yes!"

"Toto comes from Kansas. Okay."

What any of this has to do with reindeer or my unwashed bathrobe, I couldn't tell you. But isn't it nice to know that Pär's grasp on pop culture remains consistently inconsistent?