It's a Good Thing He Thinks I'm Cute

The hubs was home for four whole days. A lot of liquor was consumed, more pizza than I care to admit and I did my best Gumby impersonation on more than one occasion.

Besides having some quality romantic time , Boo managed to knock a few items off my Honey Do list. Without me bitching at him. NO. REALLY. He did it all on his own. He was just so damn happy to be back at home living with his family, he would have done just about anything in gratitude to show his appreciation of us.

Well, that and the fact that he got a speeding ticket on his way home. The facker was trying to earn his salvation.

Admittedly, neither of us are the perfect spouse. But that doesn't stop us from trying (for about two whole hours) when we see each other.

One of the items on Boo's list of chores to accomplish before his wife's candy store opened for business was for him to get his passport. Other items included giving me a back rub, grilling me a steak and putting his damn laundry away.

(You'd be surprised at the lengths I'd go to avoid putting laundry away.)

First thing Friday morning, we trekked into the city to our nearest passport office. About half way there, Boo slammed on the brakes and looked at me with a wild look of panic in his eye.

"I forgot my birth certificate at home. We have to go back."

"Do you have your driver's license?" Going back home would tack on another hour before we even hit city limits and I was jonesing for a Starbucks coffee.

"Ya, but the papers clearly state I need my birth certificate and I left it on the counter."

Like the dumbass I am, I looked at him and said, "Nah, they don't even look at it. When I went this spring they didn't ask to see it. You'll be fine. I promise. Now get thee to the city so that I may spend obscene amounts of your hard earned cash on calorie-ladled coffee."

"Are you sure?" he asked as he looked at me warily.

"Is the sky blue? Now quit doubting your wife and drive!"

Walking into the passport building and noting the two hundred or so people waiting to see the three government officials stuck in their little kiosk, Boo looked at me and said, "I'm gonna murder you in front of all these people if we wait in this bloody line all damn day only to discover we needed my birth certificate."

"It gets me all hot when you threaten me, pretty boy. Now act like a good boy and get in line with the rest of the lemmings."

Lucky for me we only waited about an hour in a line filled with annoying people before the government official asked for his birth certificate and tsked at us as she sent us packing until we could produce one.

Needless to say, Boo was annoyed. And I narrowly escaped with my life. So yesterday, we went back to the passport office, birth certificate clasped tightly in Boo's oversized paw, and gasped when we saw the length of the line. It seemed to triple over the weekend.

Fack. Double fack.

"You are so not worth this." Boo was annoyed, as he weaved his way to the back of a line that weaved about the building several times. I could feel my shame rise again as I vividly recalled telling him not to turn the car around.

Every now and then, my stupidity astounds me.

"I'll fix this. Wait here. And don't talk to any strangers. Especially females. You may decide to trade me in. Can't have that." Off I set to fix the problem. Lucky for me, the guard remembered Boo and I clearly from Friday and after a few flattering words (okay, so I begged like my life depended on it) she obtained a ticket for us to by pass the line.

Boo was impressed. The hundreds of people who had been waiting in line for hours before us, were not. "How did you do that?" A silence ensued as the surrounding people held their breath to learn my dark secrets.

"Easy. I showed her my boobs. Works every time."

"Damn. I need a set of knockers. Think of the raises and vacation time I could get if I could just flash my boobs willy-nilly at the boys."

"Oh, Boo. You aren't that far behind. A few more donuts and then I'll teach you to squeeze your boobs together using your arms. With your pretty blue eyes, tight ass and growing breasticles, you'll have all the men after you in no time," I joked.

Just as he was reaching to choke the life out of me, his number was called.

Saved by an underpaid, overworked, government official. Who would have thought?

The Power of the Purple Shirt

Most husbands show their love a variety of ways. The occasional bouquet of flowers, a shiny bauble or even the impromptu picking up their shit dirty socks with out being asked.

Not my man.

No, he prefers a bolder method of announcing his love.

He buys me appliances. Now that my friends, is true love.

After seeing me stroking Karen and George and whispering sweet words of love to them countless times over how efficient the new appliances were, he decided it was time to replace several other appliances, namely our fridge, stove and deep freezer.

In his mind, appliances equal unbridled sex.

In my mind, appliances equal well, unbridled sex. (There is a reason we have been happily married for so long. This man gets me.)

Because his plans for the summer fell through and he spent the majority of it busting his ass, surrounded by other sweaty men busting their asses, instead of at home with his family, he decided to bribe pony up a few grand to add to our clan of shiny new electronic appliances.

I now have a sparkling white, energy efficient, french door, bottom pullout-freezer-drawer refrigerator; a glass top stove with convention oven that is electric blue on the inside (for all that baking I never do); and a stand up deep-freeze so that I may never again bend over and fall into our chest high freezer while searching for that last elusive package of ground beef.

He's so thoughtful it kills me.

However, since he is out of town and the appliance dudes called to say they were on their way out with our new family members, I had a bit of a problem. How the hell was I going to get the old ones out of my house to make room for the new ones with the spagetti arms I sport? The kids would be of no assistance, a strong wind could blow them away. I was on my own with no muscle in site to lend a hand.

I did what any good wife would do.

I called up Boo to whine about my hardship. He, however, was unsympathetic.

"Just ask the delivery guys to move them for you."

No shit sherlock. Like I hadn't thought of that. "Thanks Boo, but when they called for directions this morning, the lady clearly stated it wasn't in the men's job description to remove old appliances, just bring in the new ones."

Like, duh.

"Well, I guess you're scewed. Listen, I've gotta go. Someone is on fire and we want to stand around and roast marshmallows while we wait for the rescue team to arrive."

"Wow. You really are helpful today. Have fun with that." Asshole. Since he was about as interested in my dilemma as he was in tweezing my nose hairs, I wandered into my closet and thought to myself, how would a resourceful, pathetically weak, with no one to call, woman solve this problem?"

The answer was folded up neatly on the top shelf.

The purple shirt.

Aha!

Noting the time, I quickly ran to the bathroom, shook out my hair and gave it a good brushing, slapped on some blush, dug through my mound of folded, yet still-not-put-away clothing and pulled out my secret weapon.

Shrugging into the slightly ill-fitting, yet surprisingly flattering white pushup bra, I grabbed the purple shirt and tossed it on just as the delivery truck was beeping it's way up my driveway.

Praying I wouldn't scar my kids for life, I figured I had two options. First option, I could pretend to be in a delicate condition. Men are suckers for knocked up chicky, stuck in the woods with out a big, strapping man to help her out.

If that didn't work, I'd use plan B.

I'd push up the girls and bat my eyelashes. After all, what good are newly grown guns if they can't get a few men to move some heavy, old appliances for her?




One step closer to living like a true hillbilly...



Why thank you, gentlemen, this is too kind of you.

I do feel a little bad. My darling bird Lester decided to pull a Houdini and escape his cage. Before I could catch him he landed on one of the men's shoulders and took a dump.

He wasn't amused.

Secretly, I was. But only after wishing the earth would open up and swallow me. As I blushed with mortification, my fucking, soon to have his feathers plucked bird chirped happily and then squeezed between his birdcage bars, safe from my grasp to have a laugh on the stupid humans.

After wishing me and the kids well while staring at my cleavage, the men climbed into their big truck to go deliver more appliances like manna from heaven. As the kids were hauling the boxes off into the woods to go make a fort, the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Did you get the appliances moved, darlin?" I could hear the sound of money being made in the background as Boo spoke.

"Sure did. And the new appliances are soooo pretty. I can't wait to rub them."

"Anything to make you happy sugar. Just remember who your daddy is when I get home."

"Oh that won't be hard to forget. It has to be the appliance dude. Even our bird, Lester, loved him."

"Very funny. Did you have any problems getting them to move the old appliances for you?"

"Nah. It was easier than I thought."

"Really. How'd you manage that?" I could tell he was really curious now. "Did you offer them favours?

"No funny man. They were charmed by me and my natural assets."

"You mean you had your boobs hanging out."

"Yep. A girl has to do what a girl has to do."

"Harumph." Apparently, he didn't like this too much.

"Don't worry Boo. I wore the purple shirt. They thought I was knocked up. They felt sorry for me, what with two wild children, a festering bird and no man in sight. They were just being kind. Suckers." Snicker.

"You're horrible."

"Yah, but I'm horrible with three spanky new appliances and the old ones out on the deck. I think I may have to wear this shirt and wander around town looking for buyers who need slightly used, old appliances for cheap."

"I'm gonna burn that shirt when I get home."

"Ah honey. I love you too."






I have no shame. I admit it.




It's a wee fuzzy but you get the idea.

It's All How You Word It...

"Hey Boo, what do you think of this new top I just bought?", I asked him as he was working on our deck. I twirled around and the purple top lifted slightly with the breeze.

With barely a glance, he answered, "Looks good. Great colour."

"You didn't even look. Does it make me look fat?"

There it was. The question every husband dreads hearing. Boo is a smart man. He immediately put down his drill, looked up, and met my eyes.

"Nah. But I like how it makes the McGuffies (our term of endearment for my boobs) look enormous."

"You're a pervert. But I love ya."

I didn't give the conversation much more thought as I headed into town to have lunch with my girlfriend. I was enchanted by the purple fabric and secretly pleased the top showcased what little chesticles I have. I was feeling pretty good about myself.

"Is that a new top?" my girlfriend asked me.

"Yep. Just bought it," said as I spun around to show her my glory.

"It's cute. I like the boobs. Well done." This from a lady who sports a nice rack herself.

"Thanks, I'd take a bow, but I'm fairly sure the girls will pop out."

We laughed and moved on to other topics. After lunch I headed over to her place where Boo and my kids were working with her husband.

As I screeched to a sudden halt, spraying gravel everywhere pulled into her driveway, I noticed my aunt and uncle were there. I was feeling pretty darn good. Had a nice top on, had a great hair day, and the waitress said I was the coolest mom ever.

It was bound to come to a screeching end sooner or later.

Walking over to greet my family, I noticed I was getting some looks from my aunt and several of the other adults. I felt like a rock star. Oh yea. Me and my fabulous purple top. I'm all that, baby, I thought to myself.

"Honey, you look wonderful!" my aunt said as she bent over to plant a kiss on my cheek.

"Thanks auntie! So do you." We're in a club; wonderful-looking members only, please.

Then my uncle wandered by and kissed me and told me I was glowing. I was positively radiant.

"Why, thank you." See, I'm not vain, I thought to myself. Everyone can see I'm rocking this top.

"So when's the little one arriving?" my uncle asked.

"Oh, who knows. Could be anytime, could be a year. You never know with these types of situations."

My uncle looked a little puzzled and wandered away. Ah, he's getting old, I thought to myself.

My aunt and another lady I'm only vaguely familiar with are standing beside me and suddenly my aunt reaches out and strokes my tummy.

What the fuck???

"You always look so wonderful pregnant, T. It suits you. I'm so happy for you," my auntie says.

"Um, pardon me auntie?" I'm confused and I could feel my rockstar status slipping away.

"And that top, you'll be able to wear it for months while you grow. Gorgeous."

Holy SHIT.

They think I'm pregnant!! "I hate to break it to you ladies, but I'm not pregnant. Just ate one cookie too many for lunch, is all."

All three of us stood staring at the ground awkwardly, not knowing what to say. Then my aunt pipes up, "Oh, I thought for sure with the size of your boobs and all..."

"It's called getting fat."

"Oh. We're just used to seeing you a little flatter that is. But don't worry honey. You look great. You look healthy. And your boobs look.."

"Pregnant."

Wandering off to go and try to flatten my boobs into their once pancake-like glory, I worried that I was now resembling the Invincible Purple Blob, now starring with Pregnant Boobies.







Seeing Boo alone in the corner, away from everyone else, I made a beeline towards him. I must have been radiating something because he immediately looked up and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. Just my darling husband sent me off into the great unknown looking like I'm about to birth a three headed calf while my chest could apparently provide enough nourishment for Angelina and Brad's growing tribe."

"What the hell are you talking about?" He looked hot, tired and confused. "I like the girls." Said as he tried to dip a finger in the cleavage.

Smacking it away, I hissed, "They ALL think I'm pregnant!!!"

"Oh. That's pretty shitty." He's back to trying to cop a feel.

"It's all your fault!!!"

That stopped him cold. "How do you figure that?"

I mustered all the indignity I could and whispered loudly, "I ASKED you if this top made me look fat!"

Dumbass.

"Well it doesn't. But in my defense, you never asked if it made you look pregnant." The facker was grinning and back to trying to stick his finger between my boobs. "You gotta learn to ask the right questions, darlin."

Lesson learned. And I'm burning that top.