Are Those MY PANTS?

My stupid dummy, beautiful lovely laptop crashed again last night, J claims it needs a new battery but I think it is being a damn drama queen and he has programmed it to stop working the moment I am having fun.

I can’t even pretend to still be mad at Uncle Chris because J came back from his trip all happy and relaxed and I wouldn’t say rested but you know, boys don’t like resting. He needed a break and Uncle Chris provided one and given the er marital welcome I received I am guessing the break did not include hookers so Yay Uncle Chris! And sorry, to all who just imagined my uh marital happenings? Of course, no one, NOT EVEN MY HUSBAND WHO IS SUPPOSED TO LOVE ME, thought to send me a present which I just do not even know how that could be true. Not even a coloring book from the airport? What are you ANIMALS?

And J tells me that no one even made sure he gave Cadillac my love at the football game! How will he know how much I LOVE AND ADORE HIM CADILLAC I LOVE YOU if people do not pass along messages. I just totally typed that massages which that too.

But I forgive the world for their transgressions because oh, the universe provided me with something that is making me giggle even this morning. I was telling Monica all about it and she started demanding ARE YOU PEEING YOUR PANTS?

I wasn’t, but I COULD.

I got home last night and it was dark and rainy and all we wanted to do was eat candy and tater tots and wait for trick or treaters (who never came but FINE I will just eat bowls and bowls of tooth rotting candy myself like a good martyr). And I looked at J. He looked nice; handsome in a way that your husband can only look when you haven’t seen him in a while. Three days is enough in our case. Just a little absence makes the hubby look HOTT. But something was off. Just a little something, probably no one else noticed. But something that embarrassed the hell out of J. J who does not get embarrassed, who doesn’t understand why I care if he talks to loud or whatever, who does disco slides at weddings when he is sober and doesn’t know the bride or groom very well.

He was wearing my jeans.

I have approximately eighty-four thousand pairs of jeans since I am physically incapable of throwing them out even if I am sure I won’t wear them again and this was a pair that are too large for me. They also were not among the many many pairs of men’s jeans that I do own.

Oh no, my darling husband was wearing a pair of the low-rise boot cut jeans from the Gap.

In our bedroom about 90% of my eighty-four thousand pairs of jeans were on the bed and floor. He said he couldn’t tell what was his, couldn’t find jeans that were his. That he was late and just found some that fit and he thought might be men’s and maybe even his. And oh how he failed. Passed right over the men’s styles I own and went rise to the low rise.

Sad part is, he looks better in them than I do. They are too tight in the knee on me, and baggy in the waist but they fit him great, a little slimmer than he would wear normally but that is not saying much since he likes to wear jeans that fall off of him.

I offered them to him.

I am sure he will get back to me and let me know if he wants them.