I thought I was protected.
No check that, I thought I was immune.
Apparently this malady does not discriminate against it’s victims.
Regardless of my tough upbringing, 1 of 8 kids in South Jersey, and my 22 years of military training, I was unable to ward it off.
I really have no clue what it is or how to treat it. Still waiting on the CDC in Atlanta to get back to me but let me describe the symptoms and maybe one of y’all have heard of it or know what it’s called.
I was standing there next to my ironing board folding laundry as usual; specifically Anne Marie’s laundry. I came across a few outfits I had not seen before and when I got to these pants….
…my mind just took off thinking about all the cool looking onesies and t-shirts that would go with it. I even came up with a few pairs of socks that might open up more top combinations. Then it really got bad. My next thought was, “She has no shoes to match this, gonna have to fix that.”
I was ‘askeert’ or frightened if you’re from somewhere else. Tracy wasn’t home. She’s in the business, the drug business, so I thought she might have an idea. Frank was no help at all either. I asked him where the hell did that all come from and this is what I got…
I knew he would be zero help, but when the adrenaline starts pumping out of fear you’ll reach for any thing to pull you back to sanity.
So apparently I can match outfits now. Girls outfits. I have a friend who would regard that not as a disease but as a super power. Yes you Coyne.
Still can’t dress myself, or Frank for that matter. In that picture, you can’t tell but he doesn’t even have on pants.
Take this as a public service announcement my fellow stay at home fathers, do the laundry long enough and you’ll find yourself wondering if over the ankle or strapless sandals go better with a flower print summer dress.
I knew the end of the world was coming I just didn’t think it would be this horrifying when it finally happened.
Thank God it’s Masters Week.