I made HF’s glasses into the bed last week. Really. I tucked them neatly beneath the topsheet and the fitted sheet and then I threw the comforter over top of it all. Then I couldn’t find his glasses, because I hadn’t made them into the bed on purpose. No, because that would be foolish.
I searched extensively for his glasses before I decided to retrace my steps for that morning.
(Let’s see, I had your glasses in my hand and then I threw them on to the bed. Then I went into the kitchen, then I came back and made the bed.)
My poor husband (who at that point, realized that the lumpy bits he had been sitting on were, in fact, his nice glasses) shook his head and sighed. He dug his glasses out of their cozy hiding spot and put them onto his nose.
It serves him right I say. After all, did he not greet my cool new mandarin shirt with the iffy compliment, “Hey, you look like a Chinese assassin!” And has he not feigned seriousness, taking me quietly to one side of the hallway when there are guests in the living room, only to giggle into my ear and call out, “TROGDOR!” He has. And if, in exchange, I manage to make his glasses into the bed or make him rescue me when I get stuck behind the TV or make him sit through Monty Python skits on the computer late at night, I say he deserves it. This is what happens when weird people get happily married. 🙂