Yesterday Adam yelled down the stairs at me to “please go out to the truck and get his clean boxers because he’s taking a shower and he already has all of his clothes off…”
To which I replied “you only have ONE pair of boxers that are clean?” and he said “I only have like 6 pairs” and I said “WE’RE NOT POOR, YOU KNOW.”
Anyway, I agreed to run outside. The last words I had heard included “on the floor behind the driver’s seat” so naturally that’s where I looked.
Obviously, I am stupid.
I searched and searched for a good 5 minutes, and then came in. No boxers. Adam told me “Jenny, I SAID they’re on the floorÂ the driver’s seat toward the back you have to lift it up”!!!!
Oh, my bad. So I went out and searched again following the new/old directions I think. Came in. No boxers.
Adam, superpissed, storms out the front door in a towel, immediately reaches in without even looking and magically pulls out a wrinkled, holey pair of scraggleboxers (actually, a lotÂ like a magician pulling a bunny out of a hat, now that I think of it). “SEE? I was perfectly clear.”
Upon further inspection, IÂ see that he pulled out the boxers from behind the driver’s seat, behind a case of wine, under the folded-down seat, between the seat and the floor. Obviously, I am stupid.
My favorite part of this whole exchange?
Me: Why are you so upset? Because I couldn’t follow your 18-sentence directions on how to find your holey wrinkly boxers stuffedÂ into the innerÂ workings of your truck?Â
Adam: GAAAH. I swear, Jenny… this is just like how you get mad at me for not being able to find shit in the fridge.
Oh, I’m so sorry honey. Yes, this is *exactly* like when I ask you to get the ketchup out of the fridge and you look for 5 minutes and then give up.
Let’s play a supergame: Can YOU find the ketchup?