If there is one thing a woman knows, it’s her lipstick color. When a wife finds unknown lipstick on her husband’s shirt collar, it raises eyebrows. Mine are raised.
I haven’t put an iron to a shirt in about 25 years or so, and wouldn’t know how to turn on my washer unless Martha Stewart helped me. But I know my way around a shirt collar. This weekend I saw one of Bill’s shirts before it went to the laundry and the collar was smudged with a shade of lipstick that doesn’t belong to me.
I know better than to confront him about such issues. After all, Bill has women crawling all over him, and it’s always been that way. There was a time when I crawled all over him, too, but these days I’m more patient. And tired. And he says I’m too heavy.
Today I decided to make an issue of the lipstick. It was an orange color, lighter than my shades. I left the shirt on the table in the dining room. Bill and Chelsea were due home for lunch in a couple of hours. That gave me time to think about other instances of lipstick smudges I found through the years. That made my blood begin to boil so I knew the day wouldn’t be a good one.
Update – Chelsea came home with Bill and saw the shirt. She apologized for getting her lipstick on her dad’s collar. Chelsea said it would come out with a touch of denatured alcohol and a little dishwashing detergent. I asked her where she learned such household hits.
“From dad,” she said, and winked.
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