So this last Sunday, in preparation for the Super Bowl Commercials, Alex realized we were out of beer. Football commercials just aren’t the same without beer, so I volunteered to go to the store.
Since I never leave my house, I have a very comfy pair of sweat pants that are light gray, bleach stained, and show any type of wetness on them. Strike one.
I also hadn’t showered yet this day because if I was going to be eating queso dip and drinking beer all night, I figured I didn’t need to shower quite yet. Strike two.
And I get into my car, where I had left the windows open and it rained, so I sat down on a very, VERY wet seat. Strike three.
I get to the gas station and everyone is actively avoiding me. I know I probably don’t smell that pretty, I’m wearing sweatpants where the rear end was wet, and I looked like total crap because I hadn’t brushed my crazy hair yet and I was dressed like a hobo.
Seriously I had no idea what was going on. Everyone in the store was actively avoiding me. I get to the counter and the guy there, who is usually really friendly, couldn’t ring me up fast enough, then basically shoved me out the door.
I understand that it’s a bad idea to leave your house wearing anything but your Sunday’s best on a Sunday, but I didn’t think I’d be totally shunned.
So when I get home, I tell the story to Alex. He hugs me, then pushes me away.
“Are you wearing deodorant?”
I shake my head. “No, I forgot to put some on this morning.”
“I hate to tell you love, but you smell awful.”
My eyes widen. “Wait a minute… does my butt look wet to you?”
I turn around, and he starts laughing. “Did you sit down in a puddle of water?”
I start laughing too, of course.
I’m pretty sure that everyone at the gas station thought I had wet my pants and was buying beer.
This is why I don’t leave my house.