This morning I caught hubby flipping through my September issue of InStyle magazine that I had left on the kitchen counter. I watched from the hall for a moment before poking fun.
Me: Getting ideas on what to wear today?
Him: [flipping a few more pages while thinking of something to say] I was trying to figure out Uma’s last name [now closing the magazine and pointing to the cover].
Me: You mean Uma Thurman?
Him: Oh … [setting the magazine down] … right, that’s it.
Me: Uh huh, sure.
Maybe he was interested in this year’s Fall fashions, the pictures of beautiful women, or perhaps he truly couldn't remember Uma’s last name. Regardless, his curiosity sometimes is quite entertaining. Like two days ago when he came home early from fishing and found me with a green clay mask on my face.
Him: Eww … what is that?
Me: It’s a clay mask … don’t make me laugh, it hurts.
Him: What does it do?
Me: Makes me pretty.
Him: Can I touch it?
Me: What? No, keep your dirty hands away from my face.
Him: But I want to touch it.
Me: You freak, stay away from me.
Him: Okay, Shrek.
Later that day I found him slathering the clay on his hands.
Me: What are you doing?! You’re wasting it.
Him: I just wanted to try it.
Me: But it’s for your face.
Him: Oh … I thought maybe it would make my hands look less wrinkly.*
Me: You’re a guy, your hands are supposed to be rough and wrinkly. Dork.*Note: His hands still look the same, so no -- it didn't work. Though, it was fun to watch him not use his hands for ten minutes.
