My man

I have not much interesting to report from the land of the Hixx today. Everything in my life happens tonight, with watching the PA Primaries, Andrew Lloyd Weber night on Idol and a little Hell’s Kitchen, I have to stay quiet today, to you know…keep my energy in reserve. (Go Obama! Please, let’s just get this over with!)

I did want to tell a story of my beyonce however.

John bought this British flag shirt from Urban Outfitters, very cool shirt. He loved it so much, he was so proud of his shirt.

We went out to dinner a few months ago, the night before Valentine’s Day, and we figured…HEY why not check out Mia Francesca right? Day before big dinner/date holiday, probably won’t be anyone in there. So the British flag shirt’s first outing was to dinner at Mia Francesca. Lucky shirt.

So we’re chatting and things, and John gets his food and on the first bite, drips some kind of oil, one small but potent drop, on to his brand new favorite t-shirt.

I knew he was upset, that sucks, that sucks for everyone, including the shirt. I could see the frustration, we all know how that is. He went home and tried the stain remover and anything he could get his hands on to get it out, but alas…it was stuck on the shirt it was.

Well…when I got back from Michigan this weekend, John had a crazy look in his eye. He got excited and flustered, telling me about the British flag t-shirt.

He had taken every kind of oil we have in the house, and rubbed it all over the shirt, basically dunked the shirt in oil. He then washed the shirt, (yes, all by itself, I asked the same question) and washed the shirt again and lo and behold….the shirt is fine.

We both definitely think it’s darker, but there is no stain to be seen, and damn if that shirt ain’t as soft as a baby polar bear’s bottom.

So there you go. Now, you tell me…wouldn’t you marry him if he asked you to?