(written in February)
So when Sam came home I was like a cocker spaniel. Wagging my butt, trying to hide my poop eating grin, and generally following him around. Which I don’t normally do.
I HAD NEWS!
He was tired, and walking around and talking… and finally when he collapsed on the bed without rifling through his shirt drawer (where I had placed the now infamous shirt) I couldn’t take it any longer.
I said, “I know what you should wear today” and he said “oh yea?”
I took out the shirt and threw it at him, and he put it aside and didn’t look at it. I told him to open it up and look at it and he said “Why did you ruin my favorite shirt?”
then he took another look at it.
This time I saw the excitement in his eyes and voice.
“Oh my gosh, are you serious? Are you serious? For real? Are you serious?”
I went and got the evidence out of the vanity… and showed him the two stripes.
He made me take another.
THEN he believed me.