My hubby wears dress slacks and button-downs to work. They are easy to launder: permanent press on cold with a liquid detergent (I save the shitty powder detergent for towels.) The problem is the dress socks. Brown, black and navy, and I can't tell the difference between any of them. They are all the same style, with the golden toe. Yesterday morning, the folowing exchange was had:
Him: Please help me find some dress socks. (He is so cute when he has that desperate look on his face.)
Me: (I march to our laundry rack, which is where we keep the clothes that can't go into the dryer, and produce a hanger covered in freshly-washed socks.) Um, these will work.
Him: Those are black.
Me: No, they are clearly brown.
Him: They look black to me.
We went into the bedroom and held them under a lamp, comparing them to a lone brown sock that had no match to be found.
Me: They could go either way. Today they are going to be brown. Put them on. Who looks at your feet anyway? You are always in your cubicle.
Logic wins everytime.
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I am a 21-year-old college student. I went to vegas in May and married a wonderful guy, a former frat boy (current annoyed accountant) who was going to just be a one-night-stand... three years ago. I am more or less a housewife now, and am struggling to master the art of "dometic engineering."
Meet the Blogger.
- Toni & Ben
- Toni is a former wild-child who has been known, on occasion, to drink fifths of Jagermeister with a straw. Currently a college student majoring in Communications (Journalism.) Ben is like that black guy from The Office, you know, the always annoyed accountant? He works for the corporation that owns a good chunk of a certain fast-food chain. Together, we are like one of those horrible sitcoms on NBC.
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