1) He went and bought something shiny which seems to be the thing that gives cred in the animal kingdom. Sorry, no bike porn, but he's working on that.
2) He knew that Trimama was tired of feeling like a mom/housekeeper/triathlete so he suggested we go out on a date. He open her doors, held her hand and, well you know, Trihubby is the only one who can make Trimama feel like a natural woman. (sing it with me)
3) He took Trimama shopping for clothes.
Now, some of Trimama's clothes have the dubious distinction of being "mom sheik". Ladies you know what I'm talking about. It's the "fat jeans" and baggy sweatshirt. The clothes that do absolutely nothing to flatter Trimama's new, sexy, hot, iron body. (I can't belive I just said that, I think
Earlier in the day I had dropped by REI to pick up a swim suit. This is my second swim suit in as many months. The last one I bought has the unseemly characteristic of sliding down my hips every time I turned at the wall. 3600 yards equalled a lot of slipping. It was a little embare-assing if you know what I mean. I also grabbed a pair of awesome black yoga pants to replace the pair that Trihubby had heretofore banned to the waste land of "below mom sheik", meaning, why do you wear those they do absolutely nothing for your hot little booty.
"Oh you got some new work pants."
Aye Carumba! My great new yoga pants never left the mom sheik ballpark. Work clothes being only slightly more flattering than mom sheik. I'm a trainer at the YMCA, what do you expect?
Off to the store we go. Shop, shop, shop.
"Here, try these on." handing me a pair of black pants that look startlingly like the yoga pants I had just bought, only slightly fuzzy.
I emerged from the dressing room to a Trihubby's "Whoa" and nodding approval.
Exactly how are these different than mom sheik?
"Because they are tight on your hot little booty" (fill in hand gesture here.)
Trihubby loves Trimama. Trihubby loves Trimama's body.
And that's man enough for me. Welcome back to the club.