Oh God, it's happened again. Yesterday while Cory was getting dressed for work, I heard him mutter, "What the..." then start laughing. I immediately knew what had happened.
The night before I had taken my jeans off and draped them over his valet. Ya, my man has a valet, he's sophisticated like that. He puts his work uniform of jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers on it every night. He's very Jersey Shore when it comes to his t-shirt time.
So Cory, still bleary eyed, grabbed at his usual spot and tossed on what he thought were his jeans. There was no grunting or tugging... the pants slipped on effortlessly.
Once we both realized what had happened, I called out to him to come into Bea's room and show me. Don't ask why. It was kind of like when you pass an accident and you have to look.
The worst part wasn't even the visual of my man in my jeans. The worst part was that when I had put those jeans on the day before, I was feeling pretty good. They fit better than the last time I had worn them. That euphoria quickly wore off as I stood there before Mr. Annoyingly- Fast-Metabolism-I-Still-Fit-Into-My-High-School-Jeans. F-my life.