BS thinks that i could have a career as this generation’s Erma Bombeck. i guess i have a weird little slant on life that is somewhat universal in nature. i just left him laughing on the couch, thanks to a Lands End leggings and tunic outfit that i’m wearing that is ripped in the thighs. the damn thing is eight years old; i remember buying it soon after having BC because it was stretchy, comfy, and forgiving. but eight, as they say, is probably enough. i sat on the couch, cross-legged, and looked down; then i looked up at him. and i burst into song:

sung to the tune of “Oh Holy Night”

oh, holey pants
my thighs are peeking through them.
it is the time to buy a new fucking pair.

ok. shakespeare it ain’t. but for some reason, he thought it was funny. and there are very few things funnier than when you can get my husband, mr. quieter-than-quiet, to fall over.

maybe you just had to be there…