Hubby walked into the kitchen. He’d been outside doing lawn work.
I was sitting at the table looking through one of the 18 thousand
wallpaper books I’d brought home from the decorator store.
Hubby had on grungy jeans with holes in the knees & grass stains everywhere
& a dirt smudged shirt. Actually, it all looked pretty damn good with his heavy
5 o’clock shadow & messy hair. He asked me if I had laundry to do
(‘cuz chicks dig when you ask them that). When I said yes, he went to the
laundry room & started taking off the grunge clothes.

I shouted a comment from where I was sitting...something along the lines of...

“Dance for me, baby!”

or

“Shake that sweet thing!”

I don’t remember what I said, but he came dancing out of the laundry room,
shaking what God gave him & throwing clothes at me. He swung his shirt over
his head & threw it, it landed in my lap...off came the jeans, they landed on the
table. He was rocking his ass in his tighty whities for me...then in a flash,
they were off & flying towards the stove. I was loving it & laughing
extra hard...only party because you can see into the kitchen from the front door
(which was open). I was going to tell him that my mother was due to arrive
at any minute to help me pick out wallpaper...

...but how would that have been funny?