Actual conversation of great import between me and my husband (a.k.a. Pet Monster) today:

• Me: I’m doing research for my new book.
• Pet Monster: Cool.
• Me: Yeah. So… um… if you happen to notice me looking at any strange websites, or you accidentally find a folder on my computer with a few and/or a lot of pictures of smoldering, shirtless boys, it’s totally for… you know.
• Pet Monster: *raises eyebrow* Totally for…?
• Me: *makes air quotes* Research purposes.
• Pet Monster: *blinks*
• Me: It’s just that I’m trying to figure out what my new boys look like. There are at least two of them in this book — maybe more — and I totally need visual aids. Like, a lot of them.
• Pet Monster: *blinks*
• Me: *crosses arms* It’s not that easy, you know, looking up pictures of shirtless hotties. Every time I search for “cute teen boys,” I end up on some Justin Bieber fansite. And possibly an FBI watchlist.
• Pet Monster: So, what are we doing for dinner?

Yeah. I don’t know why he keeps me around, either. But there you have it, friends. A day in the life of a professional writer. And by “professional,” I clearly mean “unprofessional.”