Are Those Mine or Yours?

Before I post about the fun weekend we had with Kenny’s parents, I have to document this story.

Keep in mind, Kenny gave me permission to do so.

I was the last one to get up on Saturday morning. Everyone else had showered and dressed for the day before I had even finished my coffee. When Kenny emerged from our room freshly showered and dressed, I took notice of his jeans. I didn’t think I had ever seen that particular pair on him before, and I wondered to myself where he had gotten them.

Then I took another sip of coffee and forgot all about it.

After I had showered and was in our closet figuring out what to wear, I couldn’t find the pair of jeans I had left on the dresser. I hadn’t worn them that long the day before so I planned to wear them again.

Were they on the floor of the closet somewhere? Nope.

Did I put them in the laundry basket perhaps? Nope, not there.

Am I missing something?

Then it clicked.

I called Kenny into our room. I turned him around, lifted up his shirt, and inspected the waistband of his jeans.

Yep, they were mine. The missing pair that I couldn’t find.

When I told him what he had done, he said, “You know, I thought they fit a little differently than usual. But they didn’t have the swirly decorations on the back pockets so I thought they were mine!”

My husband fitting into my jeans. How pathetic is that?

At least they weren’t skinny jeans.

That would have made BOTH of us look bad.