My Husband Has a Death Wish

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The other day I was preparing to go to a special evening event.  I was getting dressed and had pulled on a pair of Spanx to wear under my dress pants.  My husband – who happened to be in the same room with me – looked at me with a quizzical expression and said, “What in the world is that?”

“They’re called Spanx,” I responded.

“Oh.  Why are you wearing them?  What are they supposed to do?”

“Well,” I responded, “they’re supposed to smooth out all the  ‘lumpy and bumpy’ areas and, with any luck, maybe make me look a bit less ‘fluffy.'”

“Oh.  Can they be returned?” he asked.

“Ummm…no.  I’ve already worn them!  Why would I want to return them?”

“Well..um…cuz they’re not working.”

OUCH!  The man seriously has a death wish.

I’ll Get You (Back) My Pretties….!

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If twenty years of marriage has taught me anything, it’s to learn to take a joke.  My husband loves to tease me and, if I hadn’t learned to laugh at myself at a young age then it’s likely I’d be a very unhappy person.

The other night, my son kept soaking helium balloons in water and then letting them float back up to the ceiling.  Why he was doing this I have no idea, but the result was that the balloons would drip water all over for an extended period of time until the water had either dripped off entirely, or had evaporated.

“Braden,” I said.  “Please stop doing that.  You’re getting everything all wet, and the water has dripped on me more than a few times.  I don’t like it.”

“Geesh, Mom!” Braden said.  “It’s not like it’s going to kill you or something!”

With an obvious death wish, Troy interrupted our conversation by saying, “Maybe not, but she might melt like the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz.

It’s clear to me I’ll be staying up late the next few nights in an attempt to come up with a good zinger for Troy in the near future.  Humph!

Protecting the Family Jewels

Living with a 7-year old boy is never boring because you absolutely never know what’s going to come out of his mouth.  The other day I sent Braden upstairs to take a shower and had taken some PJs out of the dryer and thrown them up  for him to put on after he’d bathed.  When he came back downstairs, however, he wasn’t wearing what I’d sent up for him and I couldn’t figure out why.

Hershey (8 months)

“Braden, why didn’t you put on the clothes I threw up the stairs for you?” I asked.

“These are clean,” he said.  “I took them out of the basket.”

“Okay, but I threw clothes up to you. Why didn’t you put them on?”

“Well, it’s like this:  I got out of the shower and was completely naked, ” he explained.  “Hershey (our 8 month old boxer “puppy”)  was running around and…well…my penis was hanging out and I was afraid he’d bite my penis off.   I thought it made more sense to put these on instead.”

Ahhh…smart boy!