The mailman mistakenly delivered the neighbor’s winter Victoria’s Secret catalog to our doorstep the other day.
This did not escape my attention.
While I was using the catalog… Um, sorry… I mean perusing the catalog (you know, to find the correct address… a-hemmm), I eventually came to the realization:
As a father, my daughters will NEVER have the terms “Pink” or “Juicy” emblazoned across the asses of their form-fitting yoga pants. It’s not a frickin’ billboard!
Plus, really? You’d pay THAT for a thong?
To the wife: Well, if you insist, Dear. I’m perfectly Ok with thongs whatever the price…
Plus… Page 33, I’m looking at you.