Monday, September 24, 2012


Over the weekend my wife and I visited family in Williamsburg, Va.  Williamsburg is a beautiful town rich in colonial history and the roots of our country’s beginnings.  It also has a ton of outlet stores.  On the drive up my wife mentioned something about picking up a few things at the maternity store.  Great idea I thought, knowing that I would be sitting on the couch with my uncle watching college football.
The plan fell into place, with my wife shopping with my Aunt and cousin, while my uncle, my cousin’s husband, and I held down the fort.  We flipped from game to game, while I observed my cousin's husband put his two small daughters down for a nap like a seasoned pro.
Later that afternoon as the women arrived with bags in hand, my wife seemed quite pleased with her purchases.  She started small, warming me up with little outfits for the baby, complete with various animals on the butt of the outfit, ducks, raccoons and countless other harmless creatures.  My Aunt had bought little booties and bibs for the baby and I couldn’t help but to smile at these cute little get ups.  My joy was short lived.
She bent down, digging into an industrial strength bag that was stretched to the limit with what looked like enough material to clothe a small village. 
“I bought a few things so I would have something to wear.”  She said, as if she had been getting by wearing a toga.
One after another, she pulled out long, loose fitting shirts that she will eventually grow into. Other sexy items included jeans with large stretchy waistlines and pants with elastic.  It became quickly obvious that buttons were the enemy and comfort at a premium.  I put on a smile, happy that she was happy, but started noticing the price tags dangling from the atrocities she held up.  $39.99 here, $ 29.99 there, and it didn’t stop.  There were purple ones, striped ones, teal, white, more tops!  How much did she spend?  I took a sip of the suddenly medicinal beverage my older and much wiser Uncle had provided.
“How…ahem…How much did this little trip cost?”  I mustered, my voice struggling to find its pitch.
“Oh, I put it on the credit card.  You owe me some money.”   She said smiling.  The new line of thinking is that since I did this to her I am responsible for the fashionable maternity clothes as well.
Back at home, I was treated to a fashion show of every shirt and pair of pants that will become the staples of her wardrobe.  As she strode down the hall I had to admit that she did look quite good, and although I would never have thought it, I'm really starting to like her tummy.  Although I do have a 3:30 appointment at the plasma center in an effort to pay for the new clothes it requires..


  1. Replies
    1. Thanks Diane, and thanks for letting me know about the comment section!

  2. I'm gonna add you to my friends who blog list. Love your blog!