Ramblin’ Prose

This is not a post about Pippin.

This is a post about me. Why is it that guy’s feel guilty even when they’re not guilty?

Susan found a woman’s slip in our laundry room. A black, satin slip with lace trim. Size: Medium (Cue flashing red light and siren). The laundry room is just off the kitchen in our house. I was in the kitchen cooking.

“Where did this come from?”

Okay, guys, what are the first words that always comes out of our mouths.

“It’s not yours?”

Fellas. Do you know how stupid that sounds? She just asked you who it belongs to. And you come back with that weak stuff. I come back with that weak stuff.

“No it’s not. And you better think fast.”

It took awhile. An infinitesimal while when you’re trying to explain yourself. But I got the answer right.

“Ah,” I said. “Remember the snow day? Abby got it from her after-school program. She got her pants wet while sledding and that’s all they had for her to wear. By the time I picked them up, Abby’s pants were dry and she put them back on, but they told her to bring the slip home to wash. Camille came home in a pair of shorts, too. She wore those home, though. She was cute in those and her boots.”

Well, I thought I was in the clear.

“Abby!” Susan called our daughter into the kitchen. “Do you know anything about this?” Susan asked holding up the slip.

Abby, bless her heart, kept Daddy out of doggie jail by recounting the same story.

I live another day.