What? I haven’t yet mentioned that My Fair Lady works for the AT&T Performing Arts Center? On a contract basis? Well, yes, it’s true. She does. And last night I saw something related to said gig in our closet that made me shudder. She’d been talking for weeks about having to attend all the opening-week festivities and how this attendance would require many new dresses and perhaps even handbags and so forth. My advice to her: spend your money on one kickass dress, and then wear that sucker every night. Own the look. You know?
She wasn’t having any of it. And, thus, apparently, she went out and had it. Because our closet is now populated by no fewer than — what? — five new dresses. It’s hard to say. They are hanging. I did not wish to disturb them. Perhaps their price tags would become visible, and I would vomit. I store my shoes in our closet, and I didn’t want to vomit in my shoes.
Point is, if your lady is similarly engaged, I want to say that I feel for you, brother. It’s like that at my house, too. Only one way to handle it: either it’s time to buy a retaliatory tux (name of my new band), or you lose some weight to where you can fit into one of those dresses. Good luck.
