Faded Glory

This is a story about underwear so if you would rather not read I will understand, but for the rest of you hold on tight.

I will let it be known that the hubby is an underwear man. This means he has a comment or a nick name for almost every pair of underwear I own. This is fine and can even come in handy during a certain time of the month. But now a new panty name has been born: Faded Glory.

Now this is not going to be sexy tale, but one that leans more toward embarrassing to the hubby than to me (for once); but he is pretty much unflappable so he just laughed it off.

Earlier this week I had a late work meeting up in the Twin Cities and according to the weather officials (yes, I sarcastically call them officials) there was a decent winter storm headed our way. It is becoming normal that a storm comes about every week and a half in these parts, but even more uncommon is that the weather officials have been spot on in predicting all of them. But that is neither here nor there.

This particular storm started out with rain proceeded with sleet and added a dusting of light snow to top it all off. By the time I arrived back to town at eight-thirty, there was layer of ice that had accumulated on my car. This combined with the reports that the roads were nasty once out of town, I took a moment to do the math.

9:00 p.m.: still had to drive forty-five minutes to get home. Because of the icy roads ETA: ten-thirty.

10:30 p.m. once home I would need at least an hour and a half to get my life organized for the next day. 

Estimated bedtime: midnight. At this time I would set my alarm for four in the morning so I could turn around and drive the icy roads again to get to work at six.

That math didn’t add right; veto to driving home and the vote went to staying in town with a friend. 

That meant I needed to find some toiletries and underwear.

Having only four dollars to my name I ventured into the dreaded Wal Mart, where the cheapest pack of underwear was a three dollar pack of Faded Glory underwear. Mission complete.

Fast forward to the next day after work, I stop by the hubby’s job to switch vehicles. I grabbed my purse and my bag of Faded Glory underwear.

Or so I thought. 

This was the conversation that took place when my hubby came home.

“Really babe? Faded Glory?” the hubby asked.

“What do you mean?” I ask as clueless as ever.

“Well, I had Ryan go and warm up my car.”

“Ok?” I am seriously wondering where this is going.

“And he came back in and asked me why there was underwear in the driver’s seat.”

“Oh Jeez.” I did have the decency to blush slightly.  

“Thanks babe.” He is laughing now too. So I knew he wasn’t that mad.

But on the record I am not a Faded Glory type of girl. Really. I am more of the colorful type. The Faded Glories  are now part of the Friend of the Month section of my underwear drawer.

She Beats Me

“She beats me.”

My husband mentions this to the cashier in passing. I roll my eyes and respond by looking apologetic.

“He’s joking,” I resolve to hit him later as we walk out the store.

“See! I was telling the truth!” Not a tear in his eye, wielding the widest smile ever. He’ll be ok.

My husband’s humor is why I was drawn to him in the first place. Some days it’s the reason I refuse to talk to him. Tonight is the exception, he is on a roll and I am talking crazy right back.  

“I don’t think I’ve given you the right to speak.” I smack him in the belly and laugh as he yells “Why are you hitting me?!”

“She beats me.” I reply. He had conveniently told one of my co-workers this today. I’ve decided to do just that every time he says an off-the-wall comment. 

“You know spousal abuse is the number one reason marriages end in divorce.” Smack. He yells again.This has honestly been going on since he got home. Then we decide to make breakfast for supper at nine thirty at night.

“You better not let the eggs get brown; if you do I’ll have to beat you!” 

“Riiiigght,” Is my response. He rules me with an iron fist and teddy bear hugs; the latter is why I am not close to being frightened. 

To be honest, he never has me frightened. Mostly because he’s my rock, my teddy bear, the one person who lets me rant and nag and still loves me afterward more than he did before. I know he won’t admit it, but I know it’s true. Because he knows me that well, so well that he knows when I buy him something to eat for work there will be a huge bite taken out of it. So well that before I open my mouth to nag he says “before you start biting my head of…” Insert any defense, ridiculous or not, under the sun. I have learned to fire right back at him. 

“You should stop giving me quotes to fuel my blog with.” 

He snorts. “This is not going on your blog.”

“Yeah, that’s what you think.”

“Yeah you do just want to portray me as a fool.”

“No, you are seriously funny,” I am trying to make him feel good about it. He says I never listen to him; in this case he is right. I will still quote him. Funny means more reads, besides the girls love it.  I tell him this.

“Well, you shouldn’t do that then, if you want to keep me.”

What? This one is definitely come from his huge kettle of BS. 

“Why is this?”

“Well, they will all fall in love with me,” The explanation when further and in more detail about how this whole scenario would work, but I have vowed to keep the overly explicit quotes out. Personal preference, but I wouldn’t want to jinx my marriage.

“Yeah, but you love and are married to me.”

“Yeah, will see what happens after you post your blog.” Geez…what at SA, gotta love him anyway.