[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?”
“Yeah, I know, but there’s like a million kinds.”
“Always, with the dry weave.”
“Ah…… oh, here. In the purple box?”
“50 regulars or 40 extra long?”
“Hm, I’ll try the long.”
Happy Anniversary, baby. You’re the best!