Somebody please explain to me why husbands are so disgusting.
I know I’ve mentioned before that my husband is sexy, but if you click on the link and read the post (go ahead, we’ll be here when you get back) you’ll notice that I was being factious.
Because he’s totally gross, you guys.
I’m not sure why I was so surprised when today, while folding laundry, I found these in the pile.
What the fack.
I’m not driving a Maybach or anything, but surely we can afford to buy underwear. So riddle me this, people. WHY DOES MY HUSBAND PULL UNDERWEAR OUT OF THE TRASH? Seriously. I’ve thrown out boxers only to find them in the laundry pile a week later.
Again, I ask: What the fack?
I thought Ken could answer this question.
Me (holding up the offending boxers): What the fack is this?
Ken: What? They’re ventilated.
Me: Are you kidding me right now? I threw these away!
Ken: No you didn’t.
Me: YES I DID. Look! You can put your entire fist through the hole in these things. Is that the message you want to send people?
Ken: You didn’t throw them out!
Me: YES I DID. I throw boxers away and you pull them out of the trash!
Ken: I don’t pull boxers out of the trash! I think you throw away perfectly good boxers, but I don’t pull them out.
Me: You think these are perfectly fine??
Me: You’re just saying that because you know I’m going to blog about this.
Ken (laughing because he knows it’s true): Whatever! The past two times I wore those, I was surprised you hadn’t thrown them out yet.
Me (clearly disgusted): WHAT? You saw this giant hole yet you still wore them?
Ken: Well, yeah!
(Except he pronounced it like, “Wuull, yeahhhhh!”)
Me: Are you serious? You have an entire drawer of boxers and yet you still wear these?
Ken (laughing): I put them on and they don’t fall off, so that means they’re still good!
Me: Okay now you’re just screwing with me.
Ken: There’s nothing wrong with those boxers!!
Me: I’m throwing these out. Then, I’m blogging about this. Except I can’t guarantee I won’t put words in your mouth.
Ken: I think Blake is the one pulling them out of the trash.
Me (stomping out of room in disgust): Whatever.
I immediately grabbed the computer and sat down on the couch to pound this post out. Twenty minutes later, Mr. I-Love-Holey-Boxers came wandering in.
Ken (nonchalantly looking at computer screen): What are you doing?
Me (not bothering to look up from computer): ::clickity click click click click clickty:: Nothing.
Ken: You’re blogging about our conversation, aren’t you?
Me (still not looking up): ::clickity click click click click click clickity:: No.
Ken: Pffft. Whatever. Those boxers couldn’t handle the load.
OH YES HE DID.
Moral of the story: Don’t say or do stupid shit while in my presence because I WILL take pictures of you in compromising positions and blog about it. Also? If you piss me off, I’ll draw something on said picture via MS Paint (because I’m too stupid to learn Photoshop) and post it along with your real name. And probably a link to your Facebook page.
Case in point.