My husband Curtis is a bit of a diva, and he has a thing for expensive clothes. Problem is, we also have children - and everybody knows that if you're a parent, your personal wardrobe budget takes a nosedive so you can outfit your rugrats in stuff they'll outgrow/rip/stain (the little ingrates!). That's true for me, anyway; my closet has taken a major hit. Where you would once find upscale-quality clothes and the occasional designer label, I'm now rockin' clothes straight off the rack.
... The clearance rack.
... At Wal-Mart.
Anyway, over the weekend we were attempting to leave the house. As usual, I was lamenting about how I could possibly get myself and three children completely ready in the time it takes him to, like, comb his hair. Curtis was all, "I'm almost ready, I just have to get my shoes!" But when he went to get said shoes, he went ... into the garage?
His shoes were in the garage?
Yes. As a matter of fact, they were. They were in the trunk of our car. Still in the box. Which meant he had a.) purchased them without my knowledge, and b.) spent much MUCH more on them than I would have EVER been comfortable with. Sure, maybe I get a little snippy when he wants to buy these $120 shoes or whatever, but that's only because I'm walking around in a pair of flats that I bought from Payless for like six bucks ... last year.
Anyway, to make matters worse, his new kicks reminded me of black leather bowling shoes. Seeing the entire shoe doesn't really make them look that way, but picture just the tips sticking out beneath pant legs.
Seriously, y'all. I know they're supposed to be some sort of European-looking style or whatever, but they made me want to hit the nearest Bowl-O-Rama and knock over some pins.
So these shoes already had two strikes against them (hehe, no pun intended): their cost and their looks. And then we went to Target.
Curtis was pushing the cart, I was strolling alongside it. The store was crowded, being Memorial Day weekend, so we were passing a lot of people.
And then, right in the midst of those people, Curtis passed something else.
I froze in my tracks and swiveled my head around to stare at him in bug-eyed disbelief. I mean, my husband may not be the male Emily Post, but he's certainly got better manners than to let out an ear-splitting fart in public. I could already feel my cheeks burning as I heard a few poorly-disguised snickers from the people we'd just walked by.
"I cannot even believe you just did that," I hissed angrily. "Oh. My. GAWD."
"I didn't! It was my shoe!" Curtis protested, and to prove it, he did it again. Twice.
"YOUR SHOE IS MAKING THAT NOISE?" I asked loudly, to clarify to the surrounding people that my man is not actually some Jerry Springer-worthy neanderthal.
"Yes, it's my shoe," he said with a glint of pride in his eye and a smile spreading slowly across his face. He did it again. Fart fart.
... And again, dragging his sole more slowly this time. Frrrrrrrt.
Unfortunately, he was amused by his newfound discovery. In his eyes, it only made the shoes more awesome. We've all heard farty-sounding shoes, but these? Are the most realistically farty shoes I've ever encountered. People glanced horrified in our direction. Heads turned. Eyebrows raised. And knowing how embarrassed I was, Curtis took great pleasure in not only continuing the noises, but adding in effects to make them even more realistic: a not-so-subtle hip raise here, a straining expression there.
"Would you pick up your feet!" I huffed.
"What's that, my dear?" Grunt, fart.
I couldn't help but laugh. I was mortified, true, but I love me some toilet humor. No matter how hard I try to be a lady and resist, it always gets me. I'm powerless. Farts are just funny, man.
So I forgave him.
Johnston & Murphy leather Shuler Bicycle shoes: $125 (OMG!!)