Yesterday, Husband took Jed for a run up Mountain Road.
Those of you who enjoy/abhor long acquaintance with Husband will know the run was merely an excuse dressed up as ‘exercise’, an excuse to don the Shorts of Shame a.k.a the Shorts of Terror (depending on whether I wake up in a Docudrama or a Thriller. One way or another, the result is pretty negative.)
You might ask what these shorts have done to earn their own honorary title(s)? Well, from a proactive perspective, not much. BUT by the very act of being worn by Husband, the shorts are guilty of inhumane, indecent, horrifying, sartorially psychopathic crimes against innocent bystanders. Women and children, and me.
When I pointed out that the Shorts of Terror were not even fashionable IN THE EIGHTIES, Husband said: “But they have a built-in jock strap.”
Ladis and Gentlemen: welcome to the House of Horror.
There is little point to this post, mainly because – firstly – I like to be consistent.
Secondly, I just wanted to share