Fashion Parade

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'When I arrived I was cleanshaven.'

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Not too long ago Bud and I spent some time waiting to get our taxes done. Anxious waiting is the best kind. Several other couples were sharing our misery. They were sitting far enough away that I couldn’t initiate a conversation like I often do, so I had to content myself with giving them a thorough inspection, since their conversation held little interest. I admired the woman’s sweater of cheery buttercup yellow, well-made, and obviously high quality. It fit her perfectly. She saw me admiring her and smiled. What a nice lady. I’d like to visit with her.
Whispering, I pointed her out to Bud, “I love that woman’s sweater.”
Bud gave a cursory look, then commented, “I like her husband’s shirt.”
I hadn’t even noticed. The man was wearing the same Walmart shirt Bud was sporting, both a little worse for the wear.

Dirty Trick

As we walked across the Walmart parking lot this afternoon, my husband of forty-five years, Bud, pointed out my loose bootlace. I had no intention of bending over in the parking lot to tie it, so replied, “I have a backache.  I’ll tie it later.”

Bud couldn’t deal with the idea of the flopping shoelace, so he rolled his eyes and grumped,  “You can’t walk around like that.  You’ll break your danged neck.  Stand still.  I’ll tie it!”

With that, he dropped down on one knee to tie it, just as a couple of guys walked by, obviously wondering what was going on.

I couldn’t pass up this opportunity, spouting,  “No, I won’t marry you!  Now get up!”