
[Is it, Things He Does? or Things He Do? or, is there really no way to make sense of that?]
We’re staying in Palo Alto this weekend, at an apartment of one of Bryan’s friends while he’s out of town. After eating some take-out Chinese, Bryan went to the store to buy milk and cereal for breakfast in the morning.
After he’d already left I remembered I needed a new box of panty liners, which I wear every day because during childbirth my vagina opened like a blooming flower and now my Kegel muscles hang like limp, forgotten spaghetti.
I called his cell and told him what I needed, and he’s like, yeah, yeah, I know, panty liners. He’s SO okay with buying my female goodies that he gets cocky about it.
Twenty minutes later my phone rings and he’s talking in a hushed and muffled voice, “So, which ones did you need again?â€
“Always.â€
“Yeah, I know, but there’s like a million kinds.â€
“Always, with the dry weave.â€
“Ah…… oh, here. In the purple box?â€
“Yeah.â€
“50 regulars or 40 extra long?â€
“Hm, I’ll try the long.â€
“Okay.â€
Happy Anniversary, baby. You’re the best!
a blooming flower? you need to put a warning at the top for those of us that do not have children before disclosing harrowing information about childbirth. i like my kegel muscles. they are my friends.
Work those kegels now, Dacia. That’s all I have to say!