In The Pink

Gotta hand it to The Big Guy. He still thinks I'm the 27-year-old 100-pound slip of a girl he married. He loves to buy me stuff from Victoria's Secret. For my birthday, he brought home a sweatshirt and sweatpants outfit. They're modern-day lounging pajammas - I don't think anyone would wear them in public. Not sure these days, though. Naturally, they come with a plunging neckline but everything else is pretty standard - fleece, hooded, warm and cozy.

Almost everything. It's pink. Hot pink. Middle-of-a-steak pink. It comes with a silver-studded backside, spelling out the word (who woulda guessed?) "Pink." So while some folks are suffering from pink-eye, I'm flashing pink-ass. A studded dog design graces the upper-left chest, like some sort of logo. Schlemiel, schlimazel, hasenpfeffer incorporated! Sign me up for the Laverne & Shirley reunion show.

I suppose this all looks cute on those 27-something waifs. I'm sure it's fine for around the house. Both The Big Guy and Cat think I look great in it. The boys gagged and told me I couldn't wear it when it's their turn to host poker night. I guess those nights I'll pull out those black leather pants they absolutely adore on me.