Last night Bob was out in the garage getting ready to consolidate the trash into bigger bags, but we were out of large bags. He said he was going to go get some, and I said I'd go with him. I had already changed out of my work clothes into a big t-shirt that I intended to sleep in, but I changed into some sweatpant capris (about as attractive as they sound) and a different t-shirt. He was wearing lightweight sweats and a t-shirt, too. I stuck my feet into flip-flops and we headed for Target.
We always laugh about it when we do that, and comment on what a cute couple we must make, schlepping to the store basically in our night clothes. When he goes out by himself to pick something up, he usually says he's going out "to pick up chicks," and I said, "Good luck with that." One night last week he had to go get gas or something--I don't remember what--and I went with him even though I already had my nightgown--okay, another big t-shirt--on.
We wandered around Target, picked up trash bags, Cheddar cheese and mixed nuts (how appropriate!), then headed home. Once home, he stayed out in the garage and bagged up trash to carry out to the curb.
Once I'd dumped my purse in the house, I went back out to the garage to help him carry the trash out. It wasn't until I came back in the house the second time that I realized I'd worn flip-flops from two different pairs, one with light blue terrycloth on top and the other lime green and white vinyl. So I was even more put together than I thought!
