The wife got me an Easter basket, full of those things I love: chocolate/carmel eggs, Kit Kat candy bars, beef jerky. She also filled it with those things I need: new socks, shampoo, mouthwash. I also got her an Easter basket, too. I filled it with a new scanner/printer/copier/fax machine. And I included a little poem; a fib. Not sure how well it went over. "Honey, I wrote a love poem especially for you, it's a fib." The smile that followed scratched across her face like long fingernails on chalkboard — even after I explained the fib principle. Could have been because the poem was written with a water-based Paper Mate pen, which ran.