In the Eye (or Toes) of the Beholder

Yesterday morning started off like every other morning for me. Fric and Frac were fighting over who would take the last piece of chicken for lunch; Nixon, the World's Greatest Dog, Ever. was sitting on my bladder looking at me with hopeful eyes, willing my lazy butt up and into the pantry where we keep the doggy biscuits; and I was taking my leisurely time rolling my ass out of bed starting my day.

Did you know that parenting can be accomplished while trying to gather an extra minute of shut eye? All one has to do is bark orders from underneath the pillow.

"Fric, quit picking on your brother!"

"Frac, don't forget to pack some vegetables in that lunch!!"

"Let the damn dog out!! He's bugging me!"

As I was demonstrating this fine parental skill, my darling husband called for our daily bitch fest conversation filled with sweet words of love. We talk about how our night's went, the weather, and of course, if there are any hotties around for him to oogle.

Sadly, there are no Hot Asian Chicks for him to flirt with. My heart breaks for him. Really.

Luckily, he will be home soon. Where he can oogle my saggy A's at will and forget all about the firm young gals he works with. He will be home in time for me to burn some eggs make him breakfast in bed for Father's Day. It is the least I can do. Seeing as he supports my ass. Even if he does drool after anything with breasts while he's away.

(I kid, I kid. He only drools after the young ones. He's kinda choosey that way.)

"Are you going to be home Friday night or Saturday morning?" I ask, only half-listening, as Fric and Frac were back to arguing over who's turn it is to wipe the counter.

"Why? You have to make sure your boyfriend is gone before I get home?"

"Ya. I tell you, I have the men lining up down the road. I've got to beat them off with a stick. But don't worry, your best friend, you know, the one with the girly name, has been keeping your side of the bed warm and the strange men off the porch." Snicker. That ought to shut him up.

"Not funny."

"I thought it was." Giggle. Silence on the other line. "I am kidding. Lighten up."

"Oh sorry. A girl just came on the telly wearing a skimpy bikini. I tell you, she has jugs the size of--"

"ANYWAYS, what day are you coming home?"

"Saturday morning. Why, what do you have planned?"

"Well, I ordered you a pair of sandals and I'd like to pick them up before you get home so you can wear them when we go out in public together."

"Why? What's wrong with my old sandals?" He sounds a tad confused and slightly annoyed that I dare buy him a pair of new shoes. How insensitive of me. Damn. I need to curb that habit.

"Um, nothing. Except that they show your toes. The new sandals are closed-toed." Like, duh!

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Now his dander is up. "What the hell is wrong with my toes?"

"Nothing, except they're ugly as sin and you never cut your toenails and I'm tired of explaining to your children about how the long nails make snorting coke easier. It doesn't exactly set the best example."

"Very funny. Like you are one to talk." (Said in that I'm rubber, you're glue, anything you say bounces off me and sticks to you tone of voice.)

"What the hell does that mean? My feet are pretty. You've never complained about them before."

"That's because a wise man choses his battles. Because if you think you're hairy, crooked toes are charming, who am I to burst your delusional bubble?" I can tell he's feeling brave now.

"My toes are not crooked!" (Note how I didn't argue the hairy point?)

"Are your glasses on? Cuz a monkey has straighter toes than you. It's a good thing you're cute other wise you'd have been in the zoo with the primates a long time ago." Now he's really enjoying himself.

"Very mature. I have to go now." I'm examining my toes now. I never really noticed how the pinky toes curl under. And they all kinda point to the side. Hmmm...

"Why? The truth hurts?"

"No, I'm gonna go ask my boyfriend his opinion. Make sure you trim those claws before climbing into my bed on Saturday, will ya?" Click.

It could be worse. My feet could look like this.

Just then Fric and Frac walked into my room to say goodbye before boarding the bus. "What are you doing Mom?"

"Are my toes crooked?" I ask as I wiggle them about.

"Not really," Frac answers. "But are they supposed to be so hairy?"

Nice. The apples really don't fall far from their father's tree do they?