All My Boyfriends are Dead

I forgot to wash my hair, I was thinking so much in the shower, my husband said.
That's okay. You' can't tell. You hair looks like rock stars from my era, I said joking.
You mean greasy?
He gathered up his two big canvas bags of papers and books. I followed carrying his coffee and lunchbox trying to avoid patches of ice.
And what era is that? Jurassic? Paleolithic? he asked loading the passenger seat in the zero degree dark.
Marcel Duchamp's era, I said. He would've liked me. He would've been one of my boyfriends.
I paused.
Oh well, all my boyfriends are dead, I said, laughing.