Sheesh

After the Fabio comments, and the bad photo of the EGE squinting into the sun whilst sweating over the chicken coop foundation, and my sassiness in general, the EGE sent me an email (I knew he was reading my blog from work!):

Sheesh.

That's all it said. So then I sorted through my digital photos. It's a thin collection. Although I am a picture addict, this computer is new to me and I only had three months' worth of family snaps... and most are of the girls of course. I was looking for a drop-dead gorgeous picture of the EGE, so you'd all say how handsome he was (KL, didja HAVE to say it looked like he was wearing a yarmuckle?!? I know you didn't spell it right and neither did I -- we definitely could not pass in a synagogue!) and then I'd be off the hook about the Fabioso comparisons.

Unfortunately the best I could do was another squinty picture. Despite my lousy photography, which by the way would be completely fixed if someone bought me a Nikon digital SLR from the Shutterbug for, say, Mother's Day -- anyhoo, despite my lousy photography, it is perfectly clear from this photo that he is handsome, isn't he? Drop-dead gorgeous actually.



Come to think of it, this is my second post that comes around to begging for a camera. If the third time's the charm, y'all can look forward to another cockamamie (prolly don't spell that right either) justification of my need for the bells-and-whistles Nikon. But truly, truly, the EGE is a good-looking guy. I'm lucky he aged so well, because when I married him, I was SO in love with the mullet.



He could sell whipped-and-dyed hydrogenated fat (what did you THINK I was going to say?!) with the best of them. Except I need him around here for farm-type and engineering-type and father-type chores. Sorry, Parkay.