[Is it, Things He Does? or Things He Do? or, is there really no way to make sense of that?]
Weâ€™re staying in Palo Alto this weekend, at an apartment of one of Bryanâ€™s friends while heâ€™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 heâ€™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 heâ€™s like, yeah, yeah, I know, panty liners. Heâ€™s SO okay with buying my female goodies that he gets cocky about it.
Twenty minutes later my phone rings and heâ€™s talking in a hushed and muffled voice, â€œSo, which ones did you need again?â€
â€œYeah, I know, but thereâ€™s like a million kinds.â€
â€œAlways, with the dry weave.â€
â€œAhâ€¦â€¦ oh, here. In the purple box?â€
â€œ50 regulars or 40 extra long?â€
â€œHm, Iâ€™ll try the long.â€
Happy Anniversary, baby. Youâ€™re the best!