Oh dear. Where is Nancy Drew when you need her?
30 minutes ago, my dear sweet Mr.
called me, all distressed.
he cried, but not in a pleased fashion.
"Hush hush, my beloved, be not distressed," I soothingly spoke, and then empathetically yet rhetorically asked,
as if it were somehow the blue suit pants' fault that they were hanging in our closet, and not in the Mister's overnight bag, a mere 135 miles away. (Oops, sorry Nancy, you really aren't needed here after all!)
"Take comfort, my dearest, and mind there's no need to be an
I promise you won't be going around tomorrow asking,
Even a 24-hour WalMart is open in the middle of the nowhere that you are, and $6.87 psuedo-suit pants beckon!"
And my Ardent Admirer, rest assured that your adoring Mrs. will never let you again declare,
And I promise that these words will never again escape your lips,
Upon your return, I shall place your 100% polyester treasured trousers in this:
only the one I give you will declare, "These are my pants," as we both knowest that I detesteth poor English.
Sleep well, my darling, and know that you shall never again feel the depths of despair that you felt tonight.
Your loving Mrs.