Hubby walked into the bedroom this morning as I was preparing to take a shower. Being naked in front of anyone in the stark daylight is not one of my favorite things. Immediately I put my hands over my stomach--the area that used to be washboardlike and is now, ummm, not--and said, "I hate this part of me--I want it to be gone."
Hubby responded incorrectly. "It's not as bad as mine," he cheerfully replied.
"Wrong answer. Try again."
"It's better than it was a couple years ago?"
"Nope. That's not it either. Try again!"
"Ummm, I'm not bothered by it in the least--after all, you're 40, not 20?"
"Bzzzzt. You lose!"
"But, wha . . . "
"Hubby, the proper response is 'I don't even notice because I'm too busy looking at your tight little ass'--now I know it's not really anymore . . . "
"Oh, the hell it isn't!!!!" he exclaimed.
Nice save, baby!