"Honey, I have a screw in my pants," hubs mentioned as we got the kiddies ready for bed.
"What?!" I asked as I struggled to pull a pj top over Ellerie's squirmy head.
And then he repeated it. S-l-o-w-l-y. "I have a screw in my pants. Right . . . now . . ."
I instantly stopped what I was doing and began to giggle. I shot him a knowing look, a wink, and then I purposefully looked over at our children.
He ignored me and continued with his screw talk. "You know . . . it's about two inches long, right?"
And then I burst out laughing.
"Two inches? Two inches?!? That's it?" I wasn't trying to insult his manhood, but THAT was supposed to be enticing? I . think. not.
He chuckled at my reaction, and then asked with his eyes twinkling, "Annie, what did you think that I was talking about?"
I am fairly certain that I blushed, because it is one of those annoying things that I do, as I gave him a very definitive, "Umm. You know . . . well . . ." And then an irritated, "Don't make me spell it out!"
Finally, he explained, "I wore these warm up pants the last time that I was working in the house. I put a 2 inch screw in my pocket, but apparently there was a hole in the pocket and the screw is now trapped in the lining of my pants."
Now that's a screw of a different color.