Okay - so it's been about 3 weeks since my husband and I visited the ever-swingin' and always hoppin' Don Pablos, and we were greatly missed. You know the staff has it bad for you when the manager comes up and says, "How have you been, Mrs. Don Pablo? Here's the keys to the safe. Make sure you lock up all the money and turn off all the lights before you leave." I told him I had a few ideas for some changes around the place, like free food forever for anyone who's name was spelled KEEL. He smiled politely as he threw salsa in my face and yanked the keys to the safe outta my hand.
So that's that. I refuse to go back there until tomorrow night!
Speaking of night, I find myself faced with quite the little mystery, and if anyone out there can help me solve this, please feel free to give me a holler. I don't know how this is happening, but I see men's dress pants...all the time...at night...on my bed. I can't understand this. I know my husband only has 2 legs, and I see him put on one pair of pants each morning, but somehow, when the sky darkens, a dress-pants convention occurs on my bed! Well, usually it's just dress pants, but the occasional pair of jeans will make an appearance now and then. I mean, we're talking empty bed in the morning...pants parade at night. I don't get it! I find at least 3 pairs of pants laying on my bed by the time I go up to bed. When I ask my husband what's up, he goes into complete denial.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"But honey, if you'd just look, you'd see them...alive...right in front of your very eyes!"
"You're crazy. I see nothing."
"Look! Pants! There! On the bed!"
"You were dropping acid again a little earlier today, huh."
Complete and utter denial. But regardless of how many times I hang them in his closet, by nightfall, they roam to the bed. So I've begun to wonder if maybe...just maybe...my husband wears 3 pairs of pants at one time. Or, worse yet, he has 6 legs and he can move them so fast it appears as if he only has 2 (which would explain why he's always tired). Or, gulp, the pants live. If that's the case, I'll need to rally up some skirts and plot my revenge! So as you can see, I'm faced with a true X-File, one that would even challenge the likes of Fox Mulder.
Okay - here's another one for ya. If this is a man thing, then leaving the toilet seat up is nothing compared to this next one. What's up with the wet feet! Why is it so hard to dry ones feet on a warm, fuzzy bath towel when one climbs out of the shower? Why must one saunter through every room in the house, like a duck, leaving ones watery footprints on every floor, just waiting to spoil the innocent and dry socks of ones wife? I just don't get it, but my socks surely do. (Hmmm...if my husband has 6 legs, that would mean he has 6 feet which could explain how he can, within minutes, manage to soak every floor in the house. Note to self: count his shoes after he leaves for work...and soak his socks).
So the moral of my story is - don't go to Don Pablos without any pants and be sure to dry your feet - all 6 of them.
posted by Joanne @ 6:34 PM
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