Then it rained for two weeks. Then my sneakers (that I've had since 1998) completely collapsed. Then one of the "jogging stroller" tires went flat.
But that was nothing compared to what my husband tossed in my general direction as I was ordering a leash that goes around my waist; no more choosing over carrying my phone or wine.
It was a hat. A BRIGHT ORANGE itchy looking hat.
"Darling," I said through clenched teeth. "What a sweet thought. However, that, um, particular color isn't in my palate of flattering..."
"It is so you don't get shot," he mumbles over Megan Fox magazine that I apparently didn't shove deeply enough into the recycling bin.
So, I don't get SHOT? When did we move to Compton?
Apparently, in the 300 beautiful acres behind our house, people go back there and shoot at the deer and bunnies and eagles and all the citizens of the living zoo I planned on homeschooling Darling Boy in several months of the year.
This color looks good on nobody. But Darling Husband had a point that is better than being mistaken for a buck, getting shot in the face, stuffed and hung over some redneck's bricked-in fireplace.
Hunting season has begun and today, after catching Dog eating about 45,000 calories of cookies, I donned than damn hat and went for a walk. I was so uncomfortable the whole time. I couldn't put my finger on it until 3 miles later, I realized my thong was on sideways.