The Easter Bunny, bless his heart, brought Hubs a new shirt on Sunday.
In all honesty, though, Hubs acquired his new BRONCO-BLUE-AND-ORANGE-BABY!! shirt, complete with the special Under Armor logo emblazoned on the chest, through many emails and texted-to-my-phone pictures from my personal shopper in Thriving Metropolis, USA. Because Carrie actually lives in Broncoville, she can score fantastic deals here and there. Because she can text photos to phones and stuff shirts into First Class envelopes, I can benefit from her address and all the conveniently-located shopping centers.
I don’t know how the Easter Bunny managed his holiday shopping before such technology existed.
It should be noted that Carrie also lives in Avalancheville. It’s because Avalancheville and Broncoville are interchangeable. It is the city of Hubs’ dreams. And last month, Carrie sent me an email which read, “We had seats in a suite at the Pepsi Center tonight, to watch the Avs play, but I wasn’t feeling well, so I gave them away.” When I told Hubs this, he looked at me with the facial expression that is reserved for hearing the news that your president has been shot. (You know, the look of shock and horror, which hasn’t been used since the Reagan Administration. THAT was how Hubs arranged his eyebrows and mouth.) And then he said, “Doesn’t she know that she can puke in a suite at the Pepsi Center just as easily as she can puke at home? And wouldn’t you at least be HAPPIER puking at the Pepsi Center, while your Avs are out there skating for you, than you would be puking at home, while you were just watching them on the TV? I don’t think I like this girl any longer.”
Hubs fell in love with his new shirt. He calls it his Bronco Armor.
And really? I’m just going to state the facts. Hubs looked more handsome in that shirt than Ken could ever dream of looking, even when Barbie picks out his outfits. (Personally, I think it’s because Barbie has a tendency to dress Ken in flashy sequins a lot of the time, and I’ve never been attracted to a fellow who can out-sparkle me. Plus, the little plastic LOOK AT ME! smile that Ken wears while he’s driving the Corvette is a bit over-the-top.)
After church on Easter Sunday, when Hubs came home to throw off the sequined outfit he had dressed up in for our service, he pulled his new shirt over his head and sighed, as he declared, “I’m with the boy on this one. Under Armor just FEELS GOOD!”
I told Hubs, “And that shirt makes you look tough.”
Hubs said, “Er.”
I said, “Excuse me?”
Hubs repeated himself. “Er.”
I know that I’m unable to follow CIA missions in movies and all, but I’ve usually prided myself on my ability to diligently keep up in a conversation with Hubs. On Sunday, I failed. Hubs had to explain himself.
“You said that I look tough in this shirt. I said, ‘Er,’ because I look TOUGHER in this Bronco shirt. I’m already tough to begin with. If I look tough, it’s simply because I AM tough.”
And also very humble. Clearly.
And then, because the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, the same humble theme was carried out this afternoon, when I mentioned to the boy that we should look into getting him a SHORT haircut for spring. The boy shot my idea down and said, “No way. I like my hair long.”
I said, “But long hair is so hot in the summer.”
And the boy said, with a big grin, “I know! It is HOT! And listen, Mom, I already have three girls at school who have told me they love me, and I’m pretty sure it’s because of my hot hair.”
I wish the boy and Hubs could develop some self-confidence!
Do y’all have prayer chains at your churches?
I think my two boys need added to them, if y’all wouldn’t mind.