My wife kills me. Please consider defense exhibit number one.
Katie: So I was getting changed in the locker room at the gym and suddenly this woman came in and said, "Look at you! Getting up early, working out, showering, and going to work! Yay for you!"
Katie: I don't know. I've never seen her before.
Me: What did you say to her?
Katie: I said, "um, thanks?"
Me: So you have your own cheerleader?
Katie: Yeah, but then she disappeared.
Me: She disappeared?
Katie: She walked over to the toilets and I never saw her again. Now I'm not even sure she was real. I mean, I'm like 98% sure she was real and it actually happened, but still... part of me wonders.
Me: The phantom cheerleader.
Katie: Something like that.
This sounds like a case for Scooby Doo and the gang!
I think it might be time to retire a couple of undershirts and relegate them to dust rag status.
How do I know? Well, they've kinda bottomed out in the collar. The collar on the one I wore yesterday hung so low that you could easily see chest hair.
Mind you if it was 1982 and my name was Burt Reynolds or Tom Selleck, this might be okay. Alas, I'm not, and it's not.
[Hey, I told you I'm going to try to blog more often. I never said the resulting drivel would be quality.]