The Shirt

My husband bought the ugliest shirt last week.

Because it was ugly.

I married someone younger than me because a) I like being able to call myself a cougar, b) I like him, and c) I like the idea of haunting him as he becomes the pimp of his nursing home with a tricked out cane, black book full of names, and a keen sense of all of the best early bird specials around.

He's not much younger than me - just about nine months, actually. (Lightbulb. What if my husband was conceived as a result of his parents subconsciously celebrating my birth?) But sometimes that nine-month gap can feel a bit large. (Not in a bad way.)

The shirt incident was one of those times.

Now, this thing is ugly. I'm going to give you some time to exit before I share a photo.

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It's coming. I've prepared you. It's no one's fault but your own at this point.

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Seriously? Ok.

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Ugh. This shirt has everything and nothing at the same time. It's gator skin and fake tuxedo playing the part of strange ingredients rolled into the world's worst recipe. Fake pocket squares. Fake pockets. Fake buttons. BUTTONS.

I hate it. I love it. It's awful. It's great. He literally bought it because - and I quote - "It’s such an insanely ugly shirt that I had to buy it." Is that a sentence that anyone has ever said? Like, ever?

Me: Wow. I am so blessed.
Sean: Gotta pair it with a pair of jorts and hoooooo man.
Me: It would look really good without your wedding ring.
Sean: 

Me: 

He wore it for Halloween last night.When children asked him what he was supposed to be, he responded, "A disappointment to my wife." They laughed nervously, avoided staring at his short jorts, grabbed their handful of candy, and went along their merry way, as good children do.

I'm fortunate to have found someone I can have so much fun with. I'm even more fortunate I ended up marrying him. I will be most fortunate if I can make that shirt disappear.