Hubby and I have an issue going on. I want the moving boxes out of the garage, and he’s been a bit slow in taking care of it.
This weekend, while lounging on the patio in his robe, he overheard some guys getting boxes from my new neighbors. I walked out to see him climbing the fence to offer them more boxes, should they need them. Robe flapping, shiny bald head and all. I know its a guy thing and all, least amount of effort. But Really? (okay, hubby wanted me to clarify, shiny bald head is a direct comment on the lack of hair on his head, not his privates being on display. My husband is 5’8″, weighs a measely 125, and is the kind of guy who can disappear in a crowd quickly. Being plastered to my 6 ft fence, baggy robe and scrawny legs sticking out, a million words couldn’t get the description right. Of course, he could post on here to correct me.
I’m having a lie down, thinking moment, when the door bell rang. Hubby was cooking dinner, and I heard him open the door. There was some mumbling about boxes, and he rushed to open the garage door to our mound of boxes. These boxes were taking up space from MY studio. Maybe less effort got part of the job done and mollified my sense of propriety.
That is until I came out to check on how dinner was getting on. During his absence to get the boxes removed, somehow, a full tray of bacon magically lifted itself off the counter. It wound up in the tummy of our puggle, Ghenghis Khan. A full pound of bacon (my boys’ favorite food next to ice cream), is a lot of missed calories.
So should I be relieved that the boxes are gone, or ticked that the bacon was gone? I give up! We’ll be serving ice cream later.