Who knew undershirts could cause such angst?

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While folding the hubs undershirts on our bed Sunday afternoon, I started reminiscing.  (BTW, doesn’t our $20 yard sale comforter look great?)  Before I met the hubs, the only other male I knew that wore undershirts was my dad.  I guess that was another sign of the wonderful man the hubs was; one of many things he had in common with my dad.

I used to tease the hubs because he wore an undershirt all the time.  Not just under dress or work shirts, but also under polo shirts and t-shirts and it’s his pajama top when he sleeps.  I’d ask him why he didn’t go without one when he wore a polo shirt – it’s thick enough you can’t see through it, or a crew neck t-shirt – the t-shirt covers everything the undershirt does.  Even on hot, humid 90+ degree days he still wears an undershirt!  After a couple of years, I stopped teasing and cajoling him to lose the undershirts and accepted that I was in love with an ole fuddy duddy.  😉

Fast forward 10 years, we have a child and the hubs still washes his own clothes.  One day he came downstairs, all showered and dressed and cameo me for his goodbye kiss before heading out the door.  I admired him by looking him up and down as he walked towards me and stopped at his throat.  He had on a red polo shirt, top button undone, and instead of seeing the standard white undershirt, I saw bronze skin.  Different emotions flashed through me – disbelief, surprise, lust – and then one other emotion that I had never felt before in my life – jealousy.

Me: Wait.  What’s going on?  Why aren’t you wearing an undershirt? (with a touch of accusation in my voice)
The Hubs: I don’t have any clean ones left.  I thought I had one more, but I was wrong.  I’ll do laundry tonight.
Me: Then wear a dirty one.  Or change into a dress shirt and tie.
The hubs: What’s wrong with you?  I don’t need to change.
Me: Wherever you’re going, it can wait.  I’ll go wash your undershirts right now and you’ll be much more comfortable leaving this house with one on.
The hubs:  Will I?  What’s going on Jessie?
Me: (face turning red, breathing heavy, teeth clenched, lips pursed) I DON’T WANT WOMEN TO SEE YOU!
The hubs: HUH?!
Me: That little triangle of bronze skin showing where your shirt is unbuttoned hasn’t been seen by anyone other than me in over a decade!  I don’t want want anyone else to see it!  No other woman should be looking at it!
The hubs: I’ll button it up.
Me: NO!  The collar of the polo shirt is wider than the undershirt and women can still see you!
The hubs: You’re scaring me.
Me: (dissolved into puddles)

He didn’t change.  He didn’t put on a dirty undershirt.  He wouldn’t wait while I washed his clothes.  After holding me and passing me tissues while trying very hard not to laugh, he went to work just as he’d come downstairs.  He was amused and flattered that I was jealous.  I was mortified.  He came home that night to a drawer full of the clean undershirts from the hamper as well as others I’d bought that day to make sure he had an amble supply.  And I’ve been washing his undershirts ever since!

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