Earlier today, I wigged out on my children and dogs and had a major crying fit. A crying fit of truly mythical proportions. Thank you pregnancy hormones.
My fit resulted in swollen and uncomfortable eyes, so I took my contacts out. But when it was time for American Idol, it didn't take long for me to wish I hadn't, so Chris, kind soul that he is, brought me my glasses.
Now, I very rarely ever wear glasses. In fact, the only time I've worn them since we moved here was to tune in to the morning news a few times this winter to check out the school delays without having to move my lazy butt out of bed. I wear glasses so seldom, in fact, that this pair is at least 15 years old. Perhaps more. You can imagine how super stylish they are.
Anyhow, I'd had them on for a few minutes tonight when Chris looked up and then held my gaze for a few seconds.
"Those," he says, "Are birth control glasses."
I look at him quizzically because the ol' pregnancy brain is sometimes lacking.
He continued: "You know, you blame me for not getting that vasectomy, but had you been wearing the glasses, you never would have gotten pregnant in the first place."
Don't worry, he won't be needing a vasectomy because I'm pretty sure those babies are never going to work again now anyways.
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