So anyway, I’m just going to skip any sort of preamble explain where I’ve been since March, because it’s probably just easier for all y’all to think I’m lame.
Anyway, I woke up the Hubster early recently because I had a nightmare – I walked into the pool area of a resort to find the Hubster curled up on his side on a chaise lounge with a Salsa-dress wearing-Vampire-Bitch (hereafter SVB) latched on to his shoulder and I said, “Hey, SVB, WTF?” and she said, “Hey, I’m with him now; who’d want a pant suit wearing loser like you?” and I looked down to see that I was, in fact, wearing a peach-colored pantsuit of this variety:
But it was more peachy and more vibrantly colored on the jacket, which I remember also had chiffon trim, and I started to cry and I looked at Hubster and he was sleeping there on the chaise and the SVB went back to chewing on his shoulder, and I began to beat at her with my hands and scream that I was the only one who could chew on Hubster, and then I woke up.
Hubster, once he was awake, only really wanted to know more about the SVB and why he couldn’t have been dreaming about her, at which point I gave him a smack on the arm and pointed out that the only SVB ever going to chew on his shoulder was me, and he said, “Wow, are you possessive.” So now he feels that it’s only fair that he tease me about the peach pant suit and I told him to kill me if I ever came home with one. I would be afraid that he’d actually buy one for me, but I think that he will never try to actually buy me clothes, and frankly, I don’t blame him. Once, after one of my surgeries, I need looser, non-binding underwear and I sent him out and he was gone for three hours and he came back in a panic after going to three stores. Unfortunately, I never did send Hubster out for feminine hygiene products, which I do think would have sent to poor guy into apoplexy, even if I had sent him out with a box top to match to. I do remember once sending him out after sliced American cheese (with the package label and all!) and he came back with the wrong stuff. So I try not to do that anymore.
So anyway, peach pant suits invite salsa-dress-wearing vampires in to chew on your man. Maybe that was Hilary’s problem? Who knows? Anyway, you heard it here first.