Did I Ever Tell You About the Time

I figured out I could control what my husband wears...


OK, that sounds weird, but it's not quite as wacko as it sounds.


I love my hubby, but he does not give a flyin' fig what he looks like. He could care less if his shirt has a stain or a hole, or his jeans have a big grease stain on one leg; I'm not even sure he notices. 


A while back my husband came down the stairs with a shirt with holes in the front. Now, he works in a labor type job, so he didn't care. But I did. Somehow I feel like it's a reflection on me as a wife when hubby runs around looking like a hobo. I stay at home, these things are my job to me. 


"I didn't realize that had holes in it when I did the laundry, why are you wearing it?"


"Because it was on top."


Hmmm, note to self: hubby wears whatever is on top of the pile. Threw away holey shirt first chance I got and then wondered if there could be much less, "are you really going to wear that?"


Hypothesis: Can I really get hubby to wear something nice simply because of its position in 'the pile'?


Experiment: Looked at the days we had to go somewhere, counted in pile, put nice clothes in pile in that order. 


Results: That entire week hubby wore exactly what I had put in his dresser in the same order. Oh, the power!


So, now I know if we are going shopping Saturday, I just put decent jeans and a T-shirt in the Saturday spot in the pile! No more, "ugh, please don't wear that." No more making hubby feel bad; like I don't think he's gorgeous in anything. Problem solved.


Shhh, don't tell.