If you’ve read my post “Marriage: Mystery Solved” you’ll get this.
My husband Clay and I go on and on about “MY” purse. I say it’s his as it has more of his junk in it than my own. Example: we go out to eat, he asks me for his reading glasses. Where are mine? At home! I can’t fit both in “my” purse!
He says I can use his, but they’re sooo big they just flop all over my face! He claims it’s because I have a tiny baby head. Ok, so yea, I do have to buy hats in the kids department but I say “OK, Smarty Pants, little head = All brain, big HEAD… (echo) HEAd…HEad…head…” *smirk*
I actually got Clay to carry a “satchel” once. (He calls it Satchel. It’s a M-urse…a man purse.) We were taking 2 of our teenagers to Bricktown in Oklahoma City. He Serendipitously wore a “Salmon” polo, (Again, potAto / potato. It was pink.) and his new khaki M-urse.
As we’re exiting the truck, I say ” Hey, you can carry my stuff for a change!” Bless his heart, he not only agreed but was delighted to do so, so I dropped my pink bejeweled phone into his bag.
We walked up and down the busy street, popping into the shops along the way. We were right in the middle of a particular boutique when my phone started ringing. It was our eldest daughter calling. Clay started a frantic clamour to retrieve my phone from the bottom of his M’urse.
Our teenagers scattered like rats, abandoning a ship and I’m bent over hee hawing like a jackass, as my husband, in pink polo, whips out pink bejeweled phone, with daughters ringtone screaming, “Get, Get, Get It Girl” from his M’urse! Khaki M’urse never seen again.
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