So I'm in the middle of MAFE project #3,742 (also known as the ridiculously-large-crap-filled closets in the front hall).
I call the stud my husband in for some help, because really? Do we need all this luggage? I mean, SERIOUSLY, exactly HOW MANY pieces of luggage does one family need?
This is bordering on a serious problem.
Maybe even addiction.
As he weeds through the keep/sale stack (*gasp* get rid of the TUMI or HARTMAN *shudder* how dare I?!?), I find one of his old guitar picks in a bag pocket.
HUBBY (look of nostalgia crossing over his face): "Oh. This is when I was cool."
Me: *blink*blink*
*silence*
HUBBY: (defensive) "SERIOUSLY. Chicks used to line up to get these from me..."
Me: *blink*blink*
*silence*
Then?
TOTAL. HYSTERICAL. LAUGHTER.
Over my guffaws and snorts:
HUBBY: (complete and total dejection) "OH MAN! At least you could just go along with it. I used to have some beautiful girlfriends, you know!"
Yes, honey, and it was all because you had guitar picks engraved with your name.
Seriously.
Don't you ever think differently.
Now that I think of it? It's kinda turning me on right now...
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