Monday, November 2, 2009
So, here's Shopping Boy's newest purchase:
And, No-Internet, that spare tire that is visible when I am Spanx-less is exactly what it seems to be- a mixture of not enough cardio, too much chocolate, too many glasses of wine and a lack of will power when ordering at Taco Bell. Dear Me. I try, I really try to order off that Fresh and Healthy menu, but that Chicken Crunch Wrap Supreme calls my name every dang time. I can't help it. I'm a texture girl. I love the combination of crunchy and soft shell. Yum.
So no, there is no bun in the oven.
That would be a miracle equivalent to the Immaculate Conception since I no longer have a uterus. And Zippity-Do-Dah-Hurray for that!
No, the stroller above, was purchased for his dearest babies. This here baby carrier is My Hubby's gun stroller.
That's right. A stroller. For guns.
When he carted a bulky box into the house and started making a total mess in my kitchen putting this thing together, I was like, "For real? A stroller for your guns? Aren't we taking things a wee bit too far? Have you run out of things to buy, Shopping Boy? Because, it sure seems like it. Next thing you know you'll be buying Snuggies for the shotguns."
And he got all sensitive and huffy and said, "All the guys have these! When you're shooting clays, you've got to cart your guns around somehow."
Ummmm. I'm thinking maybe I need to be a little more concerned about this "manly" hobby of his.
I can see the shooting boys now, all of them in their fatigues and big, stomping boots with their hulking, macho holsters, strolling their guns around in their strollers with, of course, their ammo purses strapped across their manly chests. "Oh, Joe Bob, is that a Bugaboo gun stroller, you've got there? Dag Nabbit! I wanted one of those, but I spent all my money on this here ammo purse made from the finest English leather, so I had to get the Graco."
And if you haven't read about the man purse/ammo bag, that one's a must read to understand My Hubby and his shopping addictions. You can find it right here.
The Hubby assures me this stroller is nothing like the ones used for schlepping babies around. I don't know about you, but I think it looks suspiciously like the racing stroller I used to use for everything but running. It was great for the mall. Perfect for zipping around clothes rounders that were wedged too close together.
He showed me the built-in shelves for the guns and the ammo pouches and the hook for the macho ammo purses and the cup holders for their iced green-teas. I can only assume that's what they're drinking, since it seems to go with the lady theme of the shooting world. I told him the stroller could also come in handy if his shooting buddy, Frank gets tired or vice-versa.
I'm getting awfully suspicious about this supposed macho crowd.
The other day, I was getting a pedicure and there was this big, manly dude sitting in the chair next to me. Now, for whatever reason most men seem to have an aversion to pedicures. I certainly wish My Hubby would embrace pedicures like he embraces ammo purses, because his feet are icky. But, I suspect he finds it to be a little "gay." Clearly, if you have a purse, but it is filled with ammo instead of your valuables, that is not considered gay. I guess he finds good hygiene, gay. It's really quite a pity, if you ask me.
Anyway, the dude getting the pedicure had a scruffy goatee and he was muscular, but not like perfectly toned, gay muscular. His kind of muscular was more like fire-fighting or ice-trucking or hammering or Swat team kind of muscular.
I had on the TV the other night, looking for any sort of medical show featuring bizarre diseases, you know, to store them up in the inner recesses of my brain for my next emergency room adventure. I stumbled upon some reality show like Cops except this one was about a Swat team. I tell you what, Internet, I almost passed out from all the manly Swat men bashing into drug houses on that show with their bashing-in-equipment and their Swat uniforms and their big guns. Man, it was some kind of swooning delicious.
This pedicure guy was that sort of macho. He was also a very bad dresser in a misshapen green t-shirt and shorts in a different shade of green that totally clashed. I knew he wasn't gay for sure when I saw that ensemble. A gay man would never be seen out in a misshapen t-shirt and besides, gay men have a real sensibility for matching their colors, something straight men seem unable to do.
I certainly wish straight men could pick up gay men's habits. I think straight men and women of the world would get along perfectly if straight men were a little gayer in three areas of their life:
1) Straight men should perfect and enjoy the true art of conversation like gay men, instead of communicating through a series of grunts and filtering everything their woman says through their man ears which only allows them to hear key phrases involving anything to do with sex, food, sports and in my case, gun strollers and Mac computers.
2) Straight men need to take care of their toes and feet like gay men instead of finding leathery feet to be a badge of honor. Also, speaking of feet, if they learned this key phrase, "Honey, let's go shopping to find you an amazing pair of shoes."-That would definitely be a big time bonus and it would definitely get you men a little appreciation shining your way. Trust me on this.
3) Straight men need to learn the number one fashion rule that gay men already know- that khaki pants and tropical shirts are not the pinnacle of high fashion.
The world would be a much better place without so many blousy tropical shirts.
Anyway, curiously, I kept my eye on this macho dude and I was even more intrigued when I noticed he was getting his toenails painted black. After My Hubby walked in with the stroller, I immediately thought of that Pedicure Dude. Perhaps, he was a shooter. Black is a very macho color. I'm going to ask My Hubby if he's heard of this. I wouldn't mind him getting a pedicure, you know to fit in with the shooting world.
My Hubby also bought a truck this weekend. He claims he needs a truck to haul crap around, but I know the real truth. It's the best way to cart around his stroller.
I had to haul him up to some truck spray-lining shop this morning. I guess most truck folks get the bed of their new truck sprayed with some protective coating crap. Honestly, I wasn't really listening. I was more focused on the fact that he cannot multi-task. If he is conversing or doing anything involving brain function, he slows that car down, by a good ten miles an hour. We're driving like senior citizens to the truck lining store because he can't drive the speed limit and explain protective truck linings at the same time. I was just staring at that speedometer, because it drives ME CRAZY. We must have hit every red light on the highway and all I'm thinking about is the amount of laundry I could be doing instead of driving with Grandpa down the road. (I just reread that sentence and it made me really sad about my life.)
So, we get to the truck-lining place and I'm climbing into the driver's seat shouting, "Get out of my car Geezer. I've got laundry calling my name!" And he scurries over to his stroller-carrying truck all excited. As I start to screech by him, he waves at me frantically. I stop with a big sigh and roll down my window. Straining with my last droplet of patience. I hiss, "What is it NOW?"
And he opens the bed of his truck and waves his hand, "Look! Look!"
I look and wouldn't you know it, that truck bed is all sparkly- sparkly, like Tinkerbelle had sneezed magic fairy dust all over that truck bed.
With his sparkly truck bed and gun stroller, he is definitely going to be the envy of the shooting range.
Today's Do It Download: "Wanted Dead or Alive" by Bon Jovi. Because, The Hubby thinks he's a cowboy, but I don't know many cowboys with strollers.
But, mainly because I have ignored the hotness that is Jon Bon Jovi and I certainly did not mean to do that. My friend, Michelle, saw them in concert recently and texted me from her front row, the sentence, "He is so beautiful." No words could ever be more succinct. And I would bet my bottom dollar, Jon gets pedicures because, by the looks of his hair, I think he's into man products. It certainly doesn't make him any less than a man, that is FOR SURE. In fact, sadly, I'm thinking that's probably the most sensitive thing he does. I mean, his songs are all about cowboys and working on the dock and shooting through the heart. Hell, what am I saying? I'd take him even if he had the sensitivity of Simon Cowell. I mean, come ON, have you seen Jon in his jeans? He can be as insensitive as he likes because of his hair and his smile and his fantastic behind. "Wanted Dead or Alive"- play it and think about Jon's hair and My Hubby and his gun stroller. I guarantee the combination will make you smile. 
So no, there is no bun in the oven.
That would be a miracle equivalent to the Immaculate Conception since I no longer have a uterus. And Zippity-Do-Dah-Hurray for that!
No, the stroller above, was purchased for his dearest babies. This here baby carrier is My Hubby's gun stroller.
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1 comment:
I think your husband and I would get along quite well. I'm kind of a walking contradiction too and I like people like that.
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