I pranced (ok, limped) into the garage where Jim was preparing to battle weeds with the electric weed eater in the rain. (Yes, this just might require an entire post of its own. I had no idea he was suicidal...)
I said, "Does this tiara make you want me even more?"
(I might mention that I was in pretty bad shape as I had some kind of autoimmune disease relapse for a few days and was barely mobile. I probably wanted to re-think approaching Jim under these circumstances.)
I have to give him credit, he didn't look alarmed or roll his eyes. He stopped futzing with the weed whacker long enough to look, then shook his head. "Naw, tiaras do nothing for me." Then he paused, took another look, "Save it for Rick Springfield. I hear he likes that sort of thing."
Nice, Jim. Real nice.