Mike: “Can you come in here and tell me which of your jeans you want hung and
which go in the dryer?”
Me: “Sure. All my maternity jeans get hung please.”
Mike: “But what about your regular jeans?”
Me: “That’s cute honey. Very funny.”
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Me: *Looking through basket of folded laundry*
“Where is my new nightgown?”
Mike: “Nightgown? You mean that big gray muu-muu thing?”
Me: “Yes…”
Mike: “Oh it’s downstairs. I didn’t know what it was. It’s in the ironing pile.”
Me: *Returning with said nightgown*
Mike: “What exactly is that thing anyway?”
Me: “It’s a nightgown. Like an oversized shirt. Thought it would cover my
growing belly easier.”
Mike: “Well it looks like you killed a whale and stole its clothes.”
(Note that once I actually put on the nightgown – which was not sized for a whale – Mike wanted to know why I don’t wear nightgowns more often.)
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