Oh, awesome readers!
Let me start by saying that I LOVE Greg. I truly do. Even though sometimes he feels like a nincompoop (his word). And maybe I love him BECAUSE he sometimes feels like a nincompoop. I just can’t help myself. Sometimes I even can’t help myself from adding to his feelings of nincompoopness. (Dear Spell Check: Stop being anal and please add “nincompoopness” to your dictionary.)
It all started when he sent me a text last week while I was at work:
“MY NEW UNDERWEAR … SO COMFORTABLE!!!”
The fact that I was in a meeting at the time that he sent this text, and that I was sitting amongst some of the most serious people I know – people who probably only ever smile or laugh during special occasions – has nothing to do with what I did next. Probably.
Again, I’d like to mention how much I love Greg. In spite of that, I really don’t care about how comfortable his new underwear is. Especially since I don’t shop for him and was therefore only vaguely aware that he even had new underwear. (He may have mentioned it. I may have not been paying attention.)
After my meeting I replied to his text saying that I was glad that his new underwear was comfortable because HOW ELSE DO YOU RESPOND TO THAT?
I also said that I hoped he washed them first, which I ASSUMED he would but felt that this would add a touch of “I care” to a conversation that I was sure we shouldn’t even be having because some things – in my opinion – don’t need to be shared. No matter how much you love each other.
To which Greg replied that usually he does wash new underwear but was rushing to get to work when he realized that he missed laundry day. To which I responded that I hope he didn’t catch herpes.
He kind of panicked.