The other night, TPH and I got out for a few hours thanks to Uncle S.
We went to a mall nearby and just walking around and basically enjoyed escaping the new terror that N has become. I stopped in at FOX (the local GAP-wannabe) for tshirts for J. As always, TPH lurks outside any stores I enter, except of course the bookstore. He's always had a fear of stores for as long as I can remember. Maybe this is why...
Me: (yelling like a lunatic out into the mall) "Can you please come in here! I need money!"
Him: "Every time I reach into my pocket to pull out my wallet it hurts."
Me: "Ok, ok! That's very dramatic, I'm not spending that much! J needs shirts for school! And a shabbos dress! And you always make this so difficult and--"
Him: "--No, really. My hand hurts. I have a cut."
Yes, I really am this much fun to hang out with.
So, anywhoo...there we were having a non-existent argument in the store when TPH starts gesturing for me to turn around. When I do I am less than two feet behind a guy who has his shirt off. And it's not so pretty, trust me. But the real piece of cake was when the girlfriend starts yelling at the sales girl (when she nicely asked him to please use the dressing room), "What? He works hard for this at the gym. He should be allowed to show it off."
By now TPH and I were looking every where but at the scene of the crime trying to get out of there before one of us burst out laughing.I glance over as the guy finally tries on his shirt, and then I really stare: Mr. Big Tough Guy With a Large Gold Necklace, who apparently has been working hard on this flabby bod has on a...wait for it...smurf shirt.
Hee, hee. Some Israelis are cute.