“I cannot even believe that you just said that.” I said indignantly.

Stunned silence and then, “Great, just great. That’s going to make the blog isn’t it?”

“No, honey. It’s fine. I won’t put that up. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t say anything.”

“Too late.”

“Honey. I’m sorry. I promise, ok? But you have to admit, that’d be some funny shit. Tell me you wouldn’t laugh or say Poor son of a bitch.

He gave me a “touché” smirk.

A couple of days passed. I can’t remember exactly what happened, but it involved some serious antagonizing.

“Going to put that on the blog?” He taunted.

“No.” I said with the inflection and petulance of a 14 year old.

“How about this,gonna put this on?”

“Sean, stop. I said I’d leave it alone.”

I warned him, but he picked and picked like a kid in the back seat on an interminable road trip with an itchy, crumbly scab.

“This is going to make it on though, right?”

“No. The other thing is going on.”

“Go ahead then. After all, the blogs with me usually draw more interest.”

“Come on!” I said with mock outrage.

“Well, they do, don’t they?” he said with a smile, very similar to the “I am totally lying” smirk and the “She is so busted” grin.

“Fine. You want me to do it?” I spat.

“Hey, I can’t help it if I’m your best material.” He said as he strutted back to the living room.

“Ok, then..”

* The other morning I was getting dressed in an outfit I had put it together in my mind the night before, and there, it had looked good. Dawn’s early light showed another reality. The length of the pants on me in a word would be: abbreviated. I don’t think of myself as having abnormally long legs, yet I often find myself lamenting a missing half to inch and a half on the inseam of my pants. Turns out that ridiculous wall sit to check the length in a dressing room isn’t so silly after all. After moving around the house for 30 minutes in the usual pursuit of matching socks for Briar, unsoiled onesie for Avery, pony tail holder for my frizzy mop and clean coffee mug for the requisite cup of java, I realized that I simply could not abide the too-shortness of the pants. I walked over to a hamper to search for a solution. Sean came and stood beside me. I grabbed a t-shirt just to avoid explaining my seemingly imminent “I hate everything I own” melt down.

“What’s that?” He said with a playful twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, just a t-shirt.” I muttered quickly as I moved away.

“Oh, are you changing your shirt?” he asked as he side stepped to stay in front of me

“No, I ah, just wanted to make sure I had this.” Turning away.

“Make sure you had it? Are you putting it on under the shirt you have on?” Stepping chest to chest with me, still with that adorable twinkle in his eye.

“No. I’m not.” I said as I made a move toward the stairs.

He stepped in front of me. Dear god he stepped in front of me again like he wanted to play.

“Look, I just needed to find something.” I said trying to move away.

“So you found it, right?” He said as he slipped in front of me still looking like he wanted to play.

I blew past and went into the kitchen as I said, “I just need to get something.”

“What?” He asked with a grin I could feel even though I had my back to him.

“Damnit!” I thought. “If you have to know, my pants are once again too short. I am just trying to find one fucking thing that doesn’t make me feel ridiculous.”

The universe stopped for a moment and there was silence as Sean looked at me. He looked into my eyes, down to my pants, and then up again. He had such a look on his face of wanting to help that I was immediately sick with shame for having snapped at him.

“Why don’t you start shopping at the Big and Tall shop?” He asked without a hint of sarcasm.

It hung there.

Big and Tall Shop.
You. Big. Tall.

And then, “You are abnormally huge, fat and hideous” seemed to ricochet off of every wall. A montage of every bloated menstrual cycle, every embarrassing moment of pregnancy immobility, every fat, clumsy and zitty teen memory danced before me.

A look of confused horror crossed Sean’s face like a cloud passing the sun and he looked at me.

“Let me just offer you a piece of advice Sean, a guy should never, ever suggest to a woman that she SHOP AT THE GODDAMNED BIG AND TALL SHOP.”

And then, having assessed the situation, he spoke. This is what the came up with:
“Well, what is the complaint you have about your pants? The legs are not big enough, the leg is not long enough, right? So a Big and Tall shop could fix that.”


“I just-“

“Don’t. Just don’t. I can laugh because this is so ridiculous, but just please, don’t say another word.”

* Sean has respectfully requested that I let everyone know that whilst I am maliciously posting this story he is toiling tirelessly. He is in fact currently beneath our downstairs bathroom inhaling fiberglass particles as he hangs insulation in a dirty, damp, nasty, spider web infested crawl space. He is doing all of this in the name of my delicate, high maintenance ass that finds the toilet seat too cold to bear. For this, and much more I thank him, but it has touched nary a heart string that would keep me from posting this gem.