Garry has a very finely tuned system. Any little thing can upset it. Yesterday was a long day at work with an upset stomach, and unfortunately he added to the problem by having, of all things, Taco Bell for dinner. Four tacos. He ate four tacos. I know because I counted because one of them was supposed to be mine.
He paid dearly for the theft.
When dinner wracked havoc with his sensitive system, we were at WalMart. Oh dear.
I took the girls to the Jeep while Garry explored the wonders of the mens restroom in WalMart. And not the somewhat nice WalMart in LaPlata. I'm talking about the sketchy WalMart in downtown Waldorf.
A few minutes later, Garry joined us at the Jeep, pale and thoroughly shaken. All he could say for awhile was to ask me to remind him to take a shower when he got home.
Being curious, I pressed for more details. "It would have been more sanitary if I had just had an accident in my own pants. At least then I'd know where the germs came from."
I laughed so hard at the image of Garry carefully debating whether to use that only available toilet or suffer the conseuquences that I nearly went into an early labor.
Well, last night he never did get that shower.
So what am I doing today? Washing the sheets, of course.