underwear

by

Being Married To Me

20140526-184051.jpg

My poor husband. He doesn’t ask for much. Really. Just love. Soap. Me to be happy. Clean underwear. I do not know why three of those tasks are sometimes impossible for me to accomplish.

I do the laundry.

I swear.

But, if there is just half of a load to do. Or three quarters of a load to do. Or ninety-ninth of a hundredth of a load to do, I will put it off. I mean I would not want to waste water on a not-full-load. I am not always irresponsible. Somehow all of my husband’s underwear ends up being in that ridiculously light load. Every time.

The other day, he decided to do a batch of just his underwear.

All of his underwear.

In one batch.

All. Of. It.

This would be a wonderful idea. It would even make sense… If he wasn’t married to me.

The sad part is he didn’t even complain about not having any clean underwear.

He didn’t say anything.

He just decided to wash them on his own.

And the sweet underwear got washed.

And the sweet underwear got dried.

And the sweet underwear got folded.

And the sweet underwear got put…

I can’t remember.

I put it somewhere safe.

I vaguely recall carrying it in my hands.

And then…

Nothing.

I’ve got nothin’.

I have looked all over the house. In every clothing drawer. In every drawer where clothes could hide. I cannot find them. He cannot find them. He is finally getting a little upset.

I have tried to tell him that maybe his underwear ran away to go make baby…dimes.

This did not help the situation.

Then I told him maybe Tinkerbell stole them.

Not. A. Hint. Of. A. Smile.

Today my day will be spent checking the freezer (where I once put our keys) , the baseboards (where I found my diamond earring), the pantry (where I found my glasses), the entertainment center where I found my… You get it. Well, unless you guessed brain. Then I would know you have not read my blog. I obviously left that one… Somewhere safe.

Actually, what I will really be doing today is going to the store and buying him some brand new underwear. Then I will come home and I will wash them. Dry them. Put them…

In his hands.

And be declared The. Best. Wife. Ever.

‘Cause that is what it is like being married to me.

He will feel so…lucky…

Until he finds his other underwear one day. Where I put it safely. In his briefcase. When he opens it at work.

Just kidding.

He doesn’t even have a brief case.

But I think that is definitely where those underwear went.

Definitely.

by

Treasure?!

The other morning something happened to me that was awe inspiring.

Disturbing.

I cannot decide if it was some kind of miracle.

Or not.

Probably the “or not.”

I debated over sharing it.

Because it is so darn disturbing. Embarrassing. Kind of gross.

But I could not resist.

The other morning I woke up. As one does. Hopefully.

And I had to go to the bathroom. As one does. Regretfully.

I was wearing a ratty old tank top and underwear. As one does. To bed. Unfortunately.

When I pulled down my underwear to take care of business, I heard a clink of metal hit the floor. At first I thought one of my wedding rings had fallen off, but they were all on my fingers.

I looked down. And that is when I saw it.

20140405-225516.jpg

A dime.

20140405-225242.jpg

A dime had fallen out of my underwear.

Yes, you read that right.

20140405-225321.jpg

What does this mean?

Where did it come from?

How is this possible?

Is there more to come?

Why am I sharing this?

Why am I reading this? Yes, I can read your mind. It is one of my many gifts, besides making change in my drawers.

I never knew I was this talented. The dime reads it was minted in 2001. It looks brand new.

I cannot decide if this is a good thing.

Or not.

So many questions.

My husband had many jokes about this. One being, “Maybe you’re going through the change.”

When I went to the restroom again later in the day and I did not get paid for it, I lamented the fact to my husband that no money was made.

To which he responded, “I guess it stopped on a dime.”

I am glad he thinks this is funny and not at all disturbing.

You hear of these things happening, but you never think it’s going to happen to you.

Wait.

What?

You’ve never heard of this happening before? Yea. Me neither. But it is slightly terrifying to be the first one.

And this is why they say money is dirty, folks.

Be sure to wash your hands.

And from now on, check your…ahem…pants.

‘Cause you never know.

There could be treasure in there.

Just call me The Bank of Jenni.

This is where a more vulgar gal would write about deposits or withdrawals. But I am a lady. And blogs like those… Well, they’re a dime a dozen.

I wouldn’t want to short change myself.

I am hoping this is the end of it.

The money making underwear.

And my puns wrapped in idioms.

Although I cannot decide which is worse.

Oh well. Like I said, it doesn’t matter. It won’t be happening again.

Would I bet my bottom dollar on it?

On a dime, I would.