Tan Lines


I have been threatening a scandalous expose all summer.

The time has come.

“Honey, you look like one of those double-stuffed oreos from the back, except you’re milk chocolate instead of dark chocolate.”

Eric shoots me a look over his shoulder.  Not an appreciative-of-his-wife’s-sense-of-humor kind of look.

“Whaaatttt?”

“You know, baby, your tan lines.  From swimming.”

Eric swims at noon two to three days a week, outside.  He wears knee-length “jammers,” and the good Lord blessed him with fast-tanning olive skin.  I love holding hands with him in the summer when his fingers are like the latte and mine are the steamed milk topping.

“Very funny.  Don’t write about that.”

He hops into the shower.

“Oh, I wouldn’t write about that.  If I did, people would be thinking about your naked hiney.”

“Exactly.”

“Yep.”

“So, to be clear, you are promising me you won’t write about my tan lines?”

“That’s what I’m saying.  I think people would be offended if I wrote about it.  Children might see it.”

“OK.  Good.  Thanks.”

“Yup.  You’re welcome.  But I’m not doing it for you.  I’m doing it for my readership.”

“Whatever, just as long as I don’t see some picture of my naked ass that you took as I ran from the shower some day.”

“As if.  I have scruples, you know.”

My appreciation for said unclothed posterior is well-known in our family.  One day I accidentally texted about my appreciation to his then-21-year old daughter, who forever more shall call him Sweet Cheeks and Honey Buns.  She gets a kick out of it.  Him…not so much.

I keep telling him it could be much worse.  At least I really, really like him.

“What if I didn’t like you and I wrote about THAT?”

“What if you didn’t write about me at all?”

“Then you wouldn’t know whether I liked you or not!”

It’s a risk I would be willing to take.”

I don’t think he really means it.

So, anyway, I just thought y’all would enjoy the PHOTO, below.

Photo taken of LCD advertisement at Hobby Airport in Houston.

No, this is not actually Eric’s butt.  His is *at least* 10 times better; he may be a year or two past 27, but he is a workout fiend, which is not without its benefits.  This is exactly what his tan lines look like, though.  And he does have this bathing suit.

Meow.

Have a good weekend,

Pamelot

p.s.  No, of course he does not have THIS bathing suit…but pictures exist of him in a speedo, and the ever-present threat of me publishing them through the interwebs hangs like a guillotine over him.  There’s a reason he’s so nice to me: fear.

Comments
18 Responses to “Tan Lines”
  1. Anje Waalkes says:

    Classic!! You keep me laughing. Eric should be so thankful he has a tlented wife like you to write about his tan lines🙂 he has aided in helping many smile

    • Pamela says:

      Thanks! If I had a dollar for every time when I was growing up that my mom said “doesn’t your dad have the cutest fanny” (to which my brother and I would roll our eyes and groan), I would be rich. I think we even began to think this was a normal conversation! This post is in honor of my mom as much as Eric.

  2. Eric Hutchins says:

    I knew after that nice one on Wednesday that it wouldn’t be too long before I would return to being the BUTT of Pamela’s jokes. HAH

  3. Scott says:

    And the Swami board name ideas flow. I LOVE THIS BLOG!!!!

  4. LBDDiaries says:

    Yep, I luuurve my Alpha Hubby’s fahaa-an unclothed posterior, too! This was a very funny post and love the interaction between the two of you! Isn’t it amazing to have such a blessed relationship??

Trackbacks
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  2. […] I own a business and work full time.  I write novels, and I have a rockin’ blog. And I happen to adore my husband and like to spend time with him as well.  Like you, I’ve got a lot going […]

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  5. […] Of course I am just kidding.  Y’all know I would never talk about or show pictures of ANYONE in speedos or their underwear, especially my […]

  6. […] All in all, Bubba-Mon and I thought this was purt’ near the perfect date night. He worked on his accent and got a lot better.  Growing up in the islands, he used to say “ah-’ight” and he’s learned the proper way to say it now is “ahlllllllraaaaaaaaattttttt”.  I’m so proud of him. […]

  7. […] 15, 2010 When Eric and I first married, he authorized me to weed his closet of all unacceptable clothing and footwear.  I ended up with more “no’s” than “yes’s”, but I […]

  8. […] I just made it through a whole post without mentioning Ironman underwear, tan lines, speedos, or any other inappropriate or crude reference whatsoever.  I’m sorry; I’ll do better […]

  9. […] so back to last week. Eric can’t find any underwear.  Now, a quick explanation about Eric and underwear (which I know he will appreciate).  Eric changes underwear every time he goes near a bathroom.  […]

  10. […] night, sexy Bubba-mon donned his “mating call” red very-briefs (surprisingly, his Ironman undies are not his garment […]

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  12. […] 4. Eric:  My long-suffering island-boy turned Texas redneck wannabe triathlete husband. […]



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