I worked out tonight! Which is awesome! Because I'm fat!
But I won't be for much longer. Because I am powerful. And fit.
Just under all the jiggly bits.
Anywho, here's the conversation I had with Phubby *who is unreasonable, as you soon will see*:
Me: *taking off sports bra through neck hole of tank top (OMG, I'm hot)* Weird. *sniiiiff* Dude. That's so weird.
Phubby: What?
Me: My bra. *sniff, sniff* It smells like *sniff* tortilla chips.
Phubby: What?
Me: It does. Like corn chips. It's weird. Do you want to smell it?
Phubby: What?
Me: *burying nose deep into salty black cotton* Seriously. It's like I spilled some in there. I didn't eat any today, though. *sniff* Dude. Smell this.
Phubby: NO!
Me: Oh, what. It's gross now?
Phubby: Do you see me ripping off my underwear and asking you to smell my grundle drippings just because they smell like cottage cheese?
Me: Cottage cheese doesn't really have a smell.
Phubby: OK. Fine. Do I throw my underwear in your face and ask you to whiff their sour creamy scent?
Me: Again, sour cream has very little scent. You're doing a very poor job. Genitalia is different. Boobs are just ... boobs.
Phubby: So I'm Judgy McBoob, now?
Me: *throws bra in laundry bin, rolls eyes, sighs* I won't dignify that with an answer.
EDIT:
Conversation of five seconds ago -
Phubby: It's 10 after 11, and I'm not even worried because tomorrow, there's going to be a snow delay. And, if there is, and you take a shower, I'll take the tongue patrol up Mount Tostito.
Me: Ugh!
Phubby: Oh, that's too far?
Me: *typing*
Phubby: What are you doing?! You're not blogging that, are you?! I can't even have a conversation anymore. It's like being on a reality show!
He's wrong about that. If this were a reality show, we'd have a hot tub. And he'd have to worry about much worse conditions than snack-flavored breasts.
EDIT:
Conversation of five seconds ago -
Phubby: It's 10 after 11, and I'm not even worried because tomorrow, there's going to be a snow delay. And, if there is, and you take a shower, I'll take the tongue patrol up Mount Tostito.
Me: Ugh!
Phubby: Oh, that's too far?
Me: *typing*
Phubby: What are you doing?! You're not blogging that, are you?! I can't even have a conversation anymore. It's like being on a reality show!
He's wrong about that. If this were a reality show, we'd have a hot tub. And he'd have to worry about much worse conditions than snack-flavored breasts.
Hahahaha!! Holy shit...now that's funny...honestly, you had me at "taking off bra"...
ReplyDeleteAt least your husband doesn't try to improve the conversations he had with you that you subsequently blog (to make them funnier). It sucks when that happens TRUST ME.
ReplyDeleteMaybe you ate so many corn chips that your sweat started excreting corn chips smell? It could happen!
You've made stinky clothes oh-so-funny this morning! :)
I have that corn chip smell too!!
ReplyDeleteAnd I read this last night, late. Too late. I went to sleep thinking of Mount Tostito. I had weird dreams. That's all I'm gonna say about that.
That tortilla smell is like a sexy invitation to snack. He's a lucky duck according to top researchers.
ReplyDeleteAh, Meatbag. The way to his heart is to remove clothing.
ReplyDeleteAmanda - Oh, he critiques them. He made me take a sentence out last night because it didn't "flow."
Steamy - We're odor twins?! I kind of want to know about your Mount Tostido dream. Did the tongue patrol ever reach the top?
Kurt - See? This is what I've been trying to tell Phubby.
Fuck. Tostito.
ReplyDeleteI can't spell snacks. I just smell like them.
I'm glad you got so much mileage out of our little conversation. Last night I thought you were just trying to be weird and gross. Now I see you just wanted to get Frito-laid.
ReplyDeleteHey-OOOooooooooh!
ReplyDeleteFrito-laid!
LOL!
ReplyDeleteI love it.
I hate cottage cheese, however, now, even more so.
instant classic
ReplyDelete