I want another sweatpants drawer. I'm not sure what else to say about this, except that it kind of sums up the horror my husband feels almost every time I leave the house. I plan on growing up some day, but not until I have to. And... if I get a job at a hospital and get to wear scrubs... that poor man will never have a properly dressed wife.
Now for a completely unrelated story:
Hunter came up last night and asked us to look at his eye because he had a gray line across it. Mike took Hunter's glasses off and said, "Dude, you just need to clean your glasses." I heard Hunter reply, "Oh, because I heard that a gray line in your eye was a sign of cancer."