The jeans incident.

One of the ways that Brian knows how to communicate love to me is to help me around the house. I’ve always been the sort of person who thinks, “Don’t tell me that you love me; show me by doing the dishes.” I’m not sure if this is my genetic makeup or if I am imitating my mother. Regardless, a couple years ago I came home from work one day and found Brian cleaning. There’s no telling at this point what he was specifically cleaning, but whatever it was had him squatted down and leaning over the bathtub. I walked by and took note.

Me, “Brian! Those jeans look really nice on you! They make your butt look so sexy!”

Brian, “Oh… Really? Thanks!”

I was impressed that he owned them considering that his pants were usually terribly baggy and looked kinda skater-boy-ish. I continued on my way thinking, “It’s about time he wear pants that fit.”

About an hour later we crossed paths in the kitchen. Again, I began to admire his physique. Then my eyes went to the fashionable bleach spots sprinkled here and there… And I thought, “Wait… that’s familiar…” While I was still trying to remember why I recognized these jeans, he turned and a glint of sparkly thread caught my eye.

I gasped, “Brian! Those are MY jeans!”

Brian, “They are? …No wonder the pockets felt so small.”

Me, laughing too hard to make any sense.

Brian, “Man… And I went to the store in these. I’ve been wearing these jeans all day!”

God love him. This is another difference between a man and a woman. (If you’re wondering what the first difference is, read my post ,The Mint Incident.) Unless it’s so dark that we can’t tell when we’ve paired a blue sock to a black sock, women usually know exactly what we’re wearing on any given day. Now, Brian and I might be an exceptional couple in that we’re both sized to fit each other’s clothes. But I have a feeling that if that were more common, this would be a more familiar experience in many marriages.

Yet I can’t poke too much fun at him because I don’t know which is worse: the fact that he was wearing my jeans, or that fact that I went out of my way to tell him how good he looked in them.

Here are the jeans.

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