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RED, WHITE & ROYAL BLUE ↳book > screen “Baby.” It’s become a thing: baby. He’s knows it’s become a thing. He’s slipped up and accidentally said it a few times, and each time, Henry positively melts.

- - - - - - -

“Hello?” It’s Henry’s voice, sweet and posh and shaky and confused, and relief knocks the wind out of him.

He hears Henry’s exhale over the line. “Hi, love. Are you okay?”

He laughs wetly, amazed. “Are you kidding me? I’m fine, I’m fine. Are you okay?”

“Just hold on until I get there, we’re gonna figure this out.” “I will.” “I’m coming. I’ll be there soon.”

Need a little pick-me-up?

I need you to open Google Maps. Locate your nearest mall. Get in your car. Drive to Yankee Candle.

Past the seasonal pumpkin display, near the back of the store, you will find a trash pile Man Candle section. You will see candles called MMM, Bacon!. Riding Mower. Man Town. (I’m not kidding. Man Town.) Stay strong. Not in this section, but likely very near this section, you will find a candle called Mountain Lodge.

Hold this jar in your hands like a talisman. Close your eyes and picture a man.

I want to be clear: I’m not talking about a Hugh Dancy. Or an Andrew Garfield, a Ben Whishaw, even a Tom Hiddleston. This exercise requires someone in the Chris Evans weight class. The Richard Armitage department. Someone with smile lines around his eyes who could chop the cedar for your bower with his own hands, strangle an alpha wolf, carry you home when you sprain your ankle in the woods, bench press your entire body. Picture this man in your mountain home with a full beard, a slightly grimy white henley, a fond half smile he reserves only for you. Now open the lid and smell Mountain Lodge.

Steady yourself on the man candle display. Give yourself a second. No, you’re not wrong. Yes, the Yankee Candle Company has just eliminated the need for men. This medium tumbler Mountain Lodge candle jar is now your boyfriend. The Yankee Candle Company has effectively replaced the need for contact with the male half of our species with a compact and clean-burning candle in a jar.

“Do you like this one?” the cashier asked, ringing me up. “Every man should be required by law to smell like what this candle smells like,” I replied intensely. “That’ll be $12.01,” she said.

Oh my god, just think about it.

Your little man wants to be his daddy for Halloween so you dress him up in a little pair of jeans, a Patriot’s t-shirt and a checked shirt, topped off with a backward cap and a small stuffed dog that looks like Dodger.

Then, Chris wears an almost identical outfit and the two of them (3 because Dodger go’s along as well) head out into the neighbourhood, a pair of little twinsies.

And you just get to die due to the overload of adorable. Chris also has a little weep about it.

it’s kinda funny how our parents warned us about middle-aged men stalking us on the internet