This one goes out to the one I love.

Dear Rob,

Remember that day I agreed with you when you said you needed some new t-shirts for working out? You were all, “Every one of the t-shirts I workout in has holes in it. I think I’ll run to Walmart or Target and grab a few new ones, cheap ones, just for wearing to the gym,” or some such? And I was all, “Yeah, the t-shirts you have are looking pretty raggedy, you should get some new ones.”

And then a few days later, you brought me a Walmart receipt for two t-shirts at $4.97 each plus tax and I was all, “WOW. You found some new workout t-shirts, huh? And CHEAP. Nice work.” And you smiled, nodding, proud of your accomplishment.

And a few days after that, you yelled through the house that you were going to the gym and I yelled back for you to come give me a kiss goodbye and as you approached me where I stood scrubbing plates coated with the previous night’s dinner of polish sausage and Velveeta Shells & Cheese, I noted that you were wearing one of your new t-shirts. Or rather, I should say, NOTED WITH HORROR, because the t-shirt you had selected from the hundreds or possibly thousands of choices of t-shirts on Walmart’s shelves was adorned with a picture of Homer Simpson.

And the words I CAME FOR THE BEER.

Remember that I was all, “UH-UH. NO WAY. You did NOT buy THAT. NO WAY did you pick THAT T-SHIRT.” And you were all, “What? I don’t see the problem.” And I was all, “Honey, we do not need to wear t-shirts that advertise our already so obvious redneckedness, do we? I mean, Homer Simpson is kind of Fashion Statement circa 1990, right?” And you were all, “Nuh-uh, this is not a redneck shirt.” And I was all, “Yeah. Right.” And you were all, “Whatever. It doesn’t matter either way since I’m only going to wear it when I workout anyways.” And I was all, “Yeah. Right.”

And a few weeks passed during which you did keep your word to wear the Homer-Simpson-I-Came-for-the-Beer-T-Shirt only to the gym. Until you didn’t. Keep your word, that is. Until yesterday.

Because yesterday, you returned from running “a few errands” and I noted, again with horror, that you had been meandering the streets of Tulsa county while wearing THE SHIRT. And I know the look on my face spoke the thousand words I was thinking but before I could garner enough breath to utter a single one of them, you, again with the smile-nod-proud-thing said in a condescendingly sing-songy voice, “Guess what. The guy at the auto parts store said he LIKED my t-shirt. Uh-huh.”

Remember how the look on my face turned to pity as I shook my head from side to side? Remember how I stayed silent and never unleashed the fury of judgment which boiled inside me?

That’s because you? You proved me right, big guy.

Thanks. Love ya.

Jenny