I wasn’t going to say anything. I really wasn’t. But the more I think about it, the more I’m just so completely dumbfounded by the absolute retardedness of it all that I can’t possibly keep quiet.
So Friday afternoon I get an email from my husband at work. Here’s the email:Subject: Damn, My Shirt has been Inside Out ALL DAY! I was just in a meeting and someone asked me if my shirt was on inside out. I said, “NO!” Of course, then I looked at the buttons and they were inside my shirt? and there were threads hanging all over….Arghh…
That alone is beyond my comprehension. How does a grown man reach the ripe age of 37 without knowing a failproof way to tell if his shirt is on correctly? But it gets better. Because then he shows up at home at 6:45 p.m. on Friday night AND HIS SHIRT IS STILL ON INSIDE OUT!
Me: “Hello there, King of the Dorks. Just out of curiosity–did it ever occur to you at any point throughout the day to put on your shirt correctly? Just for kicks?”
Hubby, eying me quizzically over a mouthful of pasta: “Huh? Shirt? Why?”
One of our more scintillating dinner conversations. But back to the point–it’s not like my husband works at—at—at a place where inside-out shirt wearers work, whatever planet that might be on. He works in a large, professional building, full of lots of professional-looking people. Minus one, of course.
And this isn’t the first time. I remember an occasion ten plus years ago, before we were married. My husband flies in for the weekend to visit. We’re hitting a “trendy” bar in Newport Beach, so en route from the airport we stop by the mall so he can pick up some appropriate clothing. Indeed we have to stop BECAUSE HE FORGET HIS LUGGAGE.? ? ? As in, all of it.? Who does that? The man literally shows up at the airport without a suitcase, without a duffel bag, without anything other than his wallet and the clothes on his back. Which were so not appopriate.
So he puts on his new clothes and then we’re in line at this bar in Newport? and my husband is smiling and chatting with the girls behind us. He then remarks to me, “Oh, the girls out here are so friendly!” Color me thrilled.
About an hour later we’re walking around inside and my best friend suddenly points at hubby’s back and starts laughing and I notice his shirt is on INSIDE OUT with the price tags dangling halfway down his back. And it hits me. The “friendly” girls he’d been talking to in line had giggled and said, “Is that the new style?”
Of course hubby just laughs it off as always, citing his “boyish and amusing”?defense. But now I’m wondering if there’s some kind of latent pathology here. And Stacy and Clinton, where the hell are you when you’re needed?
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