This morning as I changed clothes for the third time and my husband snored away under a big pink comforter, I realized boys never ever have to worry about the stuff women spend hours fretting over. And it sucks. Why do they get a pass and we have to worry about every little thing?
This morning my first issue was a creaking bra. That’s right, the underwire in my bra (the right side only) was making a weird creaking noise. What the hell is that? No way I could make it through the day worrying about my boob making noise. Alex doesn’t care what part of his body makes noise. Change clothes #1
Then there’s the issue of “side boob” Yuck. That’s not hot….at all. I think this happens when bras get old and loose their support over there. Next thing you know your boob is heading for your arm pit. No Horizontal Breasts. I guess if you’re a hot 23 year old celebrity without a bra, side boob might be hot. But that’s not typically the case in Hot Springs, AR. Throw that bra away. Change #2
Panty lines….not once in twenty years has Alex turned around so I could look at his butt and check for a panty line. I make everybody in my house look at my butt, even my ten year old son. “Are you sure there’s not panty line, Sandor?” With his mouth full of Capn’ Crunch he shakes his head no, and mumbles, “I promise, Mom.” A little milk rolls down his chin. Change #3
Sometimes all the inspectors miss the panty line. I get to work and look for myself. Holy hell. At that point I have to go to the store and buy new underwear or a dress. Our house is 15 miles from my office and there’s no way I’m walking around like that all day. Has Alex ever gotten to work and checked himself out in the mirror. Doubtful.
And then there are the eyebrow problems. I’m always checking them in my rearview mirror and keep tweezers in the car. the sunlight is outstanding when it comes to plucking stray eyebrows that are just a little too long or looking ill kept. If I’m not moving at a traffic light I’m probably not texting, just trying to wrangle a stray ill behaved eyebrow hair.
Alex has eyebrows like Albert Einstein. They are crazy! Black and gray, twisting and twirling like massive caterpillars. He doesn’t’ care. I beg him to let me help. He refuses until I finally tackle him, sit on his chest, pin his arms with my knees and cut them with a pair of scissors.
All this concern and worry is exhausting. And at the end of the day….he still looks younger than I do.