For my first birthday I got a Tiffany rattle and a pair of hot pink Tweezermans.

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April 28, 2011

I always had a unibrow. My junior high year book photo was an terrifying snapshot of horror. I had a nasty unibrow and the makings of a faint mustache. All my junior high school friends that were boys were envious.

I can’t find a photo.

DARN.

But here’s a photo of Madonna’s daughter Lourdes.

I pretty much looked like this:

When I was about 12 I remember going to Target with my mom. Going to Target with my mom was always an exciting time filled with much elation, because my mom shopped at Target like it was her job. As soon as we’d walk in the door, she shove her cart directly over to the snack corner, and buy a popcorn and Pepsi. Because you need your energy to shop all 42 isles of Target, she’d say. I’d get a blue icee and we’d both snack on popcorn and cheers our sugary drinks together. I’d awkwardly hint at needing a box of Always with dry-weave overnight maximum absorbency for heavy flow pads while she would be comparing prices on generic shampoo.

I remember I had just started shaving my legs, and we went down the razor isle. I saw a pink bottle of Nair that promised to remove hair without pain or using a razor. I immediately thought that I would use it on my face to get rid of my mustache and unibrow. I begged my mom to buy it, and she did, under one condition: that I would only use it on my legs.

I agreed.

Later that day, I ran up to my bathroom and slapped that stuff all over my face. I dotted it above my lip, around my eyebrows, inside my nose. I even noticed a rouge chin hair, so I slapped it over there too. No stone unturned.

I waited the allotted time.

Tick tock.

I reorganized the bathroom cabinets.

Because idle hands are the devil’s playground.

Plus this was before the advent of iPhones and I forgot to bring my copy of Seventeen Magazine into the bathroom. There was no way that I would be stepping foot outside of the bathroom until all my Nair was cleaned off. I couldn’t let my mom know that I was Naring my face.

Time was up, I washed my face.

The cool water felt nice…because my face WAS ON FIRE!

Oh it burned so bad. I figured it was just part of the process, a little burning is a small price to pay for velvety smooth, hair-free skin.

Apparently the burning did not come standard. That special sensation was reserved just for me (it probably had something to do with the fact that I used it on my face, but it was formulated for legs). I dried off my face and looked in the mirror and saw that I was red, blotchy and blistering!! EVERYWHERE.

My mustache area was a red mess.

Around my eyebrows there were blisters, and it looked like I had a red sole patch on my chin.

My mom knocked on the door and asked why I was in there so long.

“Ugh…I’m pooping!” I lied.

“Okay, well you need to come down for dinner.”

CRAP.

I grabbed a bottle of Maybelline foundation and doused my face in it, I tried to rub it in, but no matter how hard I tried, the blisters and redness would not budge.

I patted my face down with powder.

I looked like an idiot. I had a cakey face full of make up and pink blisters everywhere. Oh, and did I mention the puss that started to erupt?

Yea, there was puss too. Oozing from my face.

I went downstairs.

My mom saw me, and exclaimed, “WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOU?!”

I shrugged my shoulders and bit my lip.

Ouch.

I’m pretty sure my mom realized that I used the Nair on my face. She’s one smart cookie. But she never asked me anymore questions about it.

And that was fine. Because I punished myself enough.

After that incident, I went on to wax, bleach, shave, and pluck my facial hair.

But because I have incredibly sensitive skin, and prone to red blotches and blisters, I’ve realized that I can only pluck. Which means, everyday I’m in the mirror plucking my face (yay).

But I’m over it. I don’t want to do it anymore.

So I’m putting down my tweezers and I’m going to bring the uni back.

Well me and this guy from Top Chef Masters:

 

 

 

 

8 Comments:

I DO NOT understand how Madonna can let Lourdes not do anything about everything that’s happening on her face. I mean, it’s one thing to be proud of your Spanish heritage…..but it’s another thing all together to turn your (hairy) cheek to that madness. (Also, I saw a brief clip of that guy on Top Chef the other day and thought, “Unless that guy’s from Amsterdam, there’s simply no excuse.”)

by Michelle Doerr on April 28, 2011

OH MY GOSH! My friend’s mom let me do the same exact thing when I was in junior high (but only to my unibrow). My mom was LIVID. I had to go to junior high winter camp with what looked like a blob of peanut butter between my eyebrows. And you’re right: it burns like a mo-fo.

by Lindsay on April 28, 2011

Several years ago there was a “new” Nair like product on the market that you could only buy on infomercials. Epilstopandspray…why didn’t I know from the name? You were supposed to especially be able to use this on bikini areas, face, etc. because it was so extra sensitive.

I had third degree burns on my arm, where I “tested” it. The only blessing is that I didn’t put this anywhere near where it was supposed to go. My arm burned like freaking crazy, blistered, got all gooey, and was disgusting for a month.

It also did not take the hair off of my arm. Just ate my skin off.

by Kelly on April 28, 2011

Oh the horror of facial hair!! I feel your pain. I was the same girl in junior high and highschool but of course I felt I was all alone. This is not a plug but I went to Ideal Image a few years ago and it was the best money I ever spent!

by Leona on April 30, 2011

I feel your pain, my hirsute sister. I literally feel your pain.

by Libby on May 1, 2011

Found your blog while looking up info on Lourdes. I have been there. I’ve not found a good solution yet. Waxing sometimes works but even plucking will cause irritation sometimes. But all the comments about how Madonna can let her daughter look like that are disgusting. Why is it so wrong for a human to look natural?

by Cole on May 9, 2011

This blog post is THE FUNNIEST blog post I have EVER read. I am not lying. For REALS!! Thank you for making me screech, squeal, and cry because I was laughing so freaking hard. I RARELY laugh out loud when reading blogs. I like funny stuff, alot, but I’m picky. I have not laughed that hard in a long time. Will you be my please friend? I’m just thinking if I you made me laugh that much from just writing some words on the internet, dude, in person you would probably have me passed out from laughter,….and I would have abs of steel. Thank you. Thanks to your unibrow. Uni-wow, is all I can say.

by Shayna on June 4, 2011

My sister was getting ready for a middle school dance once and put foaming Nair in her hair (like, her head of long hair) thinking it was regular mousse. She wrapped her wet hair freshly Naired in a towel and came to the dinner table. We all smelled it and asked her what she put in her hair. Needless to say, she freaked out and immediately washed her hair. No harm done. But kind of funny. Not as funny as Hugh from Top Chef’s unibrow though.

by ketchupwiththefrys on June 5, 2011

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I’m always one flummox away from turning into a crazy person.

9 Comments

April 21, 2011

It was a beautiful day, and I had about 2 hours before Hudson’s well-baby doctor’s appointment, so I decided to take the kids and dog to the park.

Because they were climbing up my legs, and pointing at the door, and asking–nay, shouting, “MOM!! I WANT TO SLIDE DOWN THE SLIDE!!” Well, Berlyn did most of the shouting, and Hudson was the one pointing at the door, because that’s all he really does. Points and nods. He’s gotten really good at pointing and nodding. And I’d like to take all the credit, because I’m like the best at pointing and nodding. I’m practically an expert. I should write a book about it.

So, I loaded up my double jogging stroller with toys, kids, and a tote full of candy to sneak when my children weren’t looking.

Berlyn decided she was going to push her own stroller.

Aren't you jealous that I have my very own mini-me?

We went, and we had a nice time.

I shared an uncomfortable laugh with another mom as we watched her son shove sand toys up his nose.

Hudson grabbed fistfuls of grass to feed to Zoey and Berlyn was demonstrating the proper way to slide down a slide for her Hello Kitty doll. Then it was time to leave. I had about 25 minutes to get home, get the kids in the car, and get to the doctor’s appointment. It was plenty of time, because It was only a 8 minute walk home and a 4 minute  drive to the doctor’s. I had 13 extra minutes!! I had it all perfectly calculated.

Or so I thought.

We got home, I strapped Hudson in his car seat, and just as Berlyn was getting in the car, I realized that I lost one of Hudson’s shoes. I had one, but the other one was missing!!

They are the cutest shoes, and they are borderline expensive for baby shoes. I don’t go around dropping a bunch of money on baby shoes, but you have to sometimes. The shoe options for boys is total crap. Because I’d have to be out of my mind to put my baby’s foot in a pair of these:

Barfadelic.

Or this:

I think, once you strap this atrocity onto your kid’s foot, you’ve basically given up.

In efforts to keep myself from being relegated to a lifetime of discount shoes, I remember thinking, I HAVE to find the other shoe!

First I poked my head out into the drive way and looked up the street, but I didn’t see it. Then I thought, CRAP! I’m going to have to run back and try to find it. Which means, Alright kids, back in the stroller!!

I jogged all the way up to the park, and all the way back, which is just under a mile, in flip flops (hello shin splints), but no shoe. Now I had about 3 minutes to get the kids back in the car, and to the doctor’s. I figured I’d be about 3 minutes late, and that’s not too bad considering I just jogged my monthly quota only seconds earlier. I was out of breath, slightly smelly, and exasperated when Berlyn called out, “I HAVTA GO POOP!”

Seriously??

I want to militantly scream at her and let her know that there’s no time for pooping!

“Okay Berlyn,” I said as I was trying to keep my head from exploding.

And just as I opened the door into the garage to let her inside the house, I saw Hudson’s other shoe.

It was in the house the whole time.

I called the office and let them know I was running behind, but they had to go to lunch and therefore close the office, so I had to reschedule my appointment. I hung up the phone and cried.

Seems like a disproportionate response.

So I go to the doctor’s later. No big deal.

But for some reason it is a big deal.

Because a series of unfortunate events like this one, rattles me so deeply that my breath catches in my throat and my mind gets all dizzy.

I yell at inanimate objects and work myself into a frenzy.

It’s in these moments that I feel like things are spiraling, and I’m just trying to stay calm and get through it because I don’t want my kids to witness me having a panic attack, but inside I’m completely out of control.

I have these episodes at least 4 times a week.

It’s hard to admit this because I see it as a sign of weakness and a sign of my inability to mother properly.

I want to be seen as a mom that has it all together, a mom with good and happy children, a mom who is carefree and easy going, a mom that never yells or gets worked up.

I mean, what’s so hard about going to the park and then to the doctor’s office?

People would kill to have my job, it’s practically dreamy.

But the truth is, I’m always one unplanned flummox away from turning into a crazy person.

My mom says I need to let go of some things.

Like I’m supposed to say, “So what, the shoe is gone, move on. Who cares.”

But that’s easier said than done. I can’t just not let something bother me. If I had that type of self control, I’d be the most emotionally stable person in the entire world. And where is the fun in that, I ask you??

Being calm and rational in the midst of a stressful situation?

It does sound pretty fantastic, but it’s just not my style.

But because I feel like these attacks are taking me under, I’ll be working on it. I have realized that being out of control is devastating, and makes it so much harder to function and harder to interact with my children to meet their needs.

So, today you can find me meditating on this verse:

“Urge the younger women to love their husbands and children, and to be self-controlled and pure… ” Titus 2:4

Because I’m basically the opposite of self-controlled and pure at the moment.

9 Comments:

I have cried over losing Mea’s binky. Not even joking. So not cry worthy, at $3.79 for a 2-pack. So, I am so with you sister. Sometimes being a mom is just hard.

At least you don’t put your son in ugly shoes…and look how cool Berlyn looks pushing her stroller?

by Kelly on April 21, 2011

I love it when you’re transparent. I’m not a mom, but I can relate. I flipped out when I couldn’t find my sports bra the other day.

by amanda on April 21, 2011

Beautiful. I love it.

by sarah on April 21, 2011

I have teens now. I use to flip out over specks and spots, over mis-buttoned and mis-matched clothes. Stains…well…it would just about put me in a psych ward.
All I can do is encourage you to find that balance. I found it for myself when…for me…I realized I was more tied up and concerned in what people thought of how I mothered than what my kids thought of me as a mother.
That was the day I let them go to town in a mud puddle in the middle of the park as I stood taking pictures. (ask me about the time we got kicked out of a national monument…) It will come to you if you seek it.
God always provides.

by Kyra on April 22, 2011

Hooray for Kyra’s words of wisdom. I’ve been there Becks and it’s so nice to have moms who have been there before us who can shed a little perspective on our stage of motherhood. I too was once right on time for a doctors appt. The morning was lovely, we were all moving at a snails pace, and then even with 30 minutes notice my children could not get out of snails pace. It took the full 30 minutes to get diaper changed, clothes on, teeth brushed, right when it was time to go Em couldn’t get her pants down in time and peed all over her clothes, Evan couldn’t reach his balloon and started screaming and rolling on the ground, and momma here went from happy and serene to losing her mind. Here’s what I did: I cleaned up the pee, changed the clothes again, got the kids into the car, bucked and safe, went back into the house and screamed as loud as I could for 6 seconds. I amazingly felt a whole world better, and my kids never had to see me lose it. Ta da! We’re doing the best we can. And, true, when we don’t have it God always does provide. Thanks for sharing friend.

by Natalie on April 22, 2011

This post makes me feel less crazy. Or at least more normal.

by Brooke on April 25, 2011

I HEAR YOU SISTER. I work myself into a frenzy all the time. And I don’t even have kids. I can’t even imagine the level of crazy that will be unleashed whenever that happens. Holy bajesus.

by Yellaphant on April 26, 2011

I can totally relate to this one. I tell myself: I used to be a working mother and get frustrated with these types of obstacles and screw-ups. I always had the excuse of time limits. Now, I’m home all day. How the hell can this happen?

by MomZombie on April 26, 2011

Motherhood is all about trying not to let the chaos consume you. That’s why it’s so hard when it does. And Grandmothers really shouldn’t tell Moms to “relax.” After all, they were once Moms once and just as crazy. For instance, my Mom is always on me about how Meg’s hair doesn’t have to be perfect. This is the same woman who braided my hair so tight I looked Asian.

by Libby on April 27, 2011

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Hippo Brigade’s How-To Guide for Folding Fitted Sheets.

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April 15, 2011

It dawned on me while I was rolling up my fitted sheet and shoving it into a cramped and messy shelf, that my fellow readers might not know some of my best kept housekeeping secrets. And how should you know if they were indeed, best kept secrets? I don’t go around telling people best kept secrets, that would completely negate the best kept part, and it would furthermore undermine the secret part too, no?

So let’s pretend this isn’t a best kept secret at all, but merely a thing that I do every laundry day, that is only borne out of sheer boredom but also in attempts to shake things up a bit. Because seriously, I’ve been writing about poop a lot lately. I can write about poop until my fingers blister and bleed, but the problem is you’re so utterly sick of the notion of poop being mentioned in my blog again that you’ve promised yourself you weren’t going to check in with me until I got my mind out of the gutter, and on to more wholesome topics. Well hallelujah! This post is for you!

I was also thinking that I have been a housewife for about 5 years now, and while that’s not very long in regular years, it’s really long in dog years. And if a dog was a housewife people would be thinking, woooeeee, that dog sure is something special. But I’m not a dog, I’m a person. Although if I were a dog I think I’d be an Airedale. They have spectacular hair, a penchant for hunting, and a long tongue (three things that I do not posses), but they are total crap when it comes to folding fitted sheets, as I’m sure you are, which is why I have manifested this guide to instruct you, to hold your hand, and to keep you sane and healthy.*

  • Step one: assess your sheet.

For me this looks like pulling it out of the dryer and smelling it to make sure that it is in fact clean. This would be a good time to check the elastic corners for any smaller items that may have tumbled along with your sheet in the dryer, i.e, hand towels, panties, leopard print hand cuffs, etc…

  • Step two: lay your fitted sheet out on the floor.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a little folded over in some places, that just adds to the charm and charisma of your sheet.

  • Step three: fold it in half.

  • Step four: fold it in half.

  • Step five: fold it in half.

  • Keep folding until you get a tight little parcel that resembles this:

Martha Stweart would have you believe that you need to follow her guide to end up with a fitted sheet that looks like this:

But that’s just rediculous. Where is the charm and charaisma in that, I ask you?

If you are really pressed for time, and aren’t we all, you can try my short cut method:

  • Take you fitted sheet out of the dryer, shake out, and roll until you get a fancy hand muff.

  • Then remove your arm to expose a tiny fox hole with which to fill with whatever you please. I prefer Easter candies that my family would otherwise eat if I didn’t sneak them away in my hidden stash spots.

  • Once your sheet is small enough, it’s ready to be crammed into your disheveled hall closet. I like to keep mine stocked with random afghans that my extended family like to give me.

Done and done.

 

* I cannot promise that following this guide will keep you sane and healthy. It might actually do the opposite. If it does, my deepest regrets, and if you email me your home address along with a coupon to Bed Bath and Beyond, I promise I’ll come visit you and possibly knit you a sweater to keep you warm while you are locked up in the frozen tundra of your inescapable mind. I say possibly because I’m not so good at knitting as it stands currently, but if you teach me (I’m a moderately slow/remedial learner, so you must be a patient and relentless instructor), I could learn, and therefore knit you a sweater.

 

6 Comments:

I laughed,
I cried,
I learned how to fold a fitted sheet.

by Marge on April 15, 2011

I think I’m going to come over and organize your linen closet for you. That’s one messy shelf. You should be ashamed.
Hilarious post by the way. Well done.

by Sarah Megonie on April 15, 2011

I slit a sheet, a sheet I slit.
Upon a slitted sheet I sit.

by Mike Krause on April 15, 2011

People that actually would take the time to make the fitted sheets be folded into an actual square, not only amaze and scare me, but I think they should be nominated for some sort of award.

Those things are never meant to be square after leaving the package the first time. Stellar instructions, very similar to what mine would have been.

by Kelly on April 17, 2011

Here’s what I do: I fold it the same way as you and then jam it to the back of the closet and stack all the nice pillow cases and flat sheets in front of it. It’s all smoke and mirrors.

by MomZombie on April 18, 2011

My sheets have to go on the top shelf of my closet. I am five feet tall. There is throwing involved.

by Libby on April 18, 2011

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Phantom Poo Residue

6 Comments

April 12, 2011

I still feel like there’s poo on my right index finger.

Like there’s a little smudgie right there next to my fingernail; where I keep the hangnails and dried skin calluses.

I changed Hudson’s diaper over an hour ago, and have washed my hands twice since then with lots of foamy soap and really hot water, but for some reason I can’t shake the the feeling that there is a phantom poo residue, sitting next to me, on my finger.

If it was really there, I’d don’t think I’d be typing with this much enthusiasm. Or at the very least, I wouldn’t be using the right index finger. I’d be holding it up, high above the keyboard like an impish floating fariy, supervising the work of the other 9 poo-less fingers.

I definitely would’t be scratching this blackhead that is right above my lip and below my nose with such abandoned vigor.

I certainly wouldn’t be using my right index finger to extricate the remaining hummus out of the container, and then licking shamelessly.

I wouldn’t be biting the rouge hangnail on said finger, and then chewing the torn off skin between my front teeth before I savored the flesh, and then spit it across the room.

Certainly not.

But just as a safety precaution, I think I’ll wash my hands a third time.

 

6 Comments:

Remind me never to kiss you if I ever meet you.

by MomZombie on April 12, 2011

…nor should you shake my hand.

by beckey on April 12, 2011

Sometimes that Phantom-Poo residue lasts for hours. You better Germex too just in case.

by Kelly on April 12, 2011

That’s how all that OCD begins for all of us. Thanks for commenting on my blog today 🙂

by Mrs. Tuna on April 12, 2011

I can still tell you exactly where the poo was on my finger last week. Or maybe that was hummus. They look the same.

Did I just ruin hummus for you?

by Libby on April 13, 2011

Totally get what you mean. Happened with me last week picking up dog poo. is that worse or better than baby poo??

just found you blog. how refreshing you are. Thanks.

by Jenn on April 20, 2011

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Bid Adieu to Jeggings

4 Comments

April 7, 2011

Me: Okay, The kids are asleep, so I’m going to take a bath now.

Pat: Sounds nice.

Me: (Gathering up fashion magazines) You wanna come and chat with me? (putting on a green facial mask) You can make fun of how I can’t move my face once my mask hardens. Seriously, I look like one of those Real Housewives. Oh, look! It’s starting to happen. If yoou want my boodie, and yoo tink I’m sexy, comon’ baby let mee knoow…

Pat: Nope. Not sexy.

Me: HEY! I KNOW! We should get a karaoke machine! We’re always talking about getting another piece of furniture for our bedroom. And we can stick it next to the pile of socks that I kick off while I’m sleeping and then never pick up. It will be fun. I can perfect my Rod Stewart rasp, while you clap like an adoring fan.

Pat: That’s a great idea, if we didn’t receive enough attention as kids growing up. I just don’t think we need that type of validation. Right? I mean, people that buy karaoke machines are people that are starving for a spotlight, and had dreams of becoming some rich, coked-out performer.

Me: …Or they just like to sing and dance.

Pat: There’s nothing you can say that would make me want to buy a karaoke machine.

Me: I can karaoke naked…?

Pat: While that sounds nice, I’ll pass.

Me: Pass on naked show tunes?! You’re crazy.

((GASP!!!))

Pat: WHAT!? ARE YOU OKAY!?

Me: Yeah, I’m fine. Why?

Pat: Because you gasped like you found out that you had a secret twin growing on your neck or something.

Me: Secret twin? What, are you watching soap operas?

Pat: No, I just watch that crap you like, Kardashians and whatnot.

Me: I looove the Kardashians. No, I don’t have a secret twin. I might have a hernia, but that’s neither here nor there. No, I was gasping because, look at this article!!

Pat: Yeah, so?

Me: It says to store your jeggins, because they are out!

Pat: Yeah, so?

Me: But I have a special attachment to the jegging.

Pat: Well it looks as though Bazaar Magazine is telling you that you need to have a special attachment to the slouchy silholette.

Me: But the jegging is like a fancy pair of strechy pants, and I LOVE STRECHY PANTS! They hold everything in place so it’s not shuffling around when I’m not looking, and they make me feel loved and warm inside, like I’m being cuddled softly.

Pat: You get all that from a pair of pants?

Me: They are that awesome.

Pat: So why do you care what a stupid magazine says? If you love jeggins so much, keep wearing them. Seems simple to me.

Me: I love talking to you.

Pat: Well that’s good.

Me: Yeah, you’re so wise, like Mr. Miyagi.

Pat: I prefer being compared to Yoda.

Me: But Mr. Miyagi is so much hotter.

Pat: Really, Mr. Miyagi? You think the old guy from The Karate Kid is hot??

Me: Well, no, not really, but between the two of them, Mr. Miyagi can definitely pull off the jegging, Yoda would just look ridiculous.

Pat: So lemme get this straight…

Me: Shhh…it doesn’t have to make sense.

Pat: But–

Me: Nope, it’s never going to make sense. Ever.

4 Comments:

Yeah well I need pants that hold it in AND hold it up.

by Mrs. Tuna on April 7, 2011

Mr. Miyagi could pull off a Jegging, if it weren’t for the fact that he has junk. Men plus stretchy pants, plus junk, equals major icky.

Like sweatpants on a dude only 80 million times worse.

by Kelly on April 7, 2011

Both Mr. Miyagi and Yoda would strain something getting into jeggings. And I hate the slouchy look. I am not going to dress like an Olsen twin unless their money comes with it.

by Libby on April 8, 2011

Everyone wears the jegging here. They’ll probably go on wearing them, along with their euro-mullets.

by Erin Huckaby on April 12, 2011

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Date Night is Alright.

3 Comments

April 4, 2011

It doesn’t happen often, but last night, we had a date night.

Here’s what went down:

Our first order of business was to make sure we dropped off our kids somewhere where they will receive no less than 8 bedtime stories and generous portion of ice cream for dinner. For us, that was Nonnie and Poppi’s house.

Then we had a sweet treat at the Scandia Bakery in Laguna Beach.

Moment of silence for the chocolate macaroon please.

Then we people watched. Our favorite were the tourists trying to walk on the beach with high heels.

 

And after indulging in warm coffee and tasty snacks, we got randy in a public bathroom.

Only kidding, we didn’t do that.

Or did we?

Alright we did, but I only let him get to second base.

I’m such a tease.

Dinner was delicious.

After dinner we went  to Walmart.

Sure, because that’s what you do after a date, because everything else was closed and I needed some Miller Lite and camouflaged cargo shorts.

But since we go to Walmart as often as we go to bars that have line dancing, we thought we should do it up right.

Rambler style:

These things are the best.

I’m asking for one for my birthday.

In conclusion, date night was fun, bathrooms can be sexy, and Ramblers are my new favorite thing.

3 Comments:

One time we went to the grocery store on date night. But it was still pretty awesome.

by Rima on April 4, 2011

I think miller lite and camo cargo shorts make for a romantic evening.

by Marge on April 5, 2011

Damn. We need to start doing date night.

by magpie on April 7, 2011

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