Alliteration. Amusing to abuse.
You know those white net bags women use to wash their bras in, to protect the straps from wrapping around the rest of the laundry and getting stretched all out of shape so that when you wear the bra the straps end up hanging half way down your arm, making you look like Blanche DuBois only, hopefully, not as desperate and sweaty?
My husband is wearing one over his head.
He is also wearing bright yellow rubber gloves that extend to his elbows, a black hoodie (who doesn’t own one of those), and jeans tucked into his wellingtons. He is off to wage war on the ground wasps that are terrorizing our path into the woods that border our back yard.
He has never looked sexier.
You can have Bruce Willis, crawling through ductwork to save the woman he loves from terrorists. I yawn when Clint Eastwood saves whole towns from bad guys who don’t shave. And Tom Cruise? Still pissed at him for thinking he could be Jack Reacher.
Any day, over all of them, I’ll take the guy who will dress up in ridiculous garb to protect me from the painful pokes of thousands…well, maybe dozens…of swarming, stinging insects.
Actually, I think he was more worried about the dog. Never mind. He still looks adorable in my bra bag.