Catching Crabs

I'm not talking the edible kind. My husband and I stayed at a 5-star hotel a while ago in Roanoke. This place is nice. More than nice. It's immaculate. Historical. Renowned.
We were getting ready for dinner, and I took a shower. Five hours in a car does that to a woman. I needed a shower.
So I get out of the shower and what do I see? My husband, in all his glory (aka naked as a jaybird) sprawled out on the couch. Enter shocked wife. I'm standing there, in a robe, with my mouth to my knees.
I'm not saying the male body isn't a work of art. It is. It's just not the kind of art you want awkwardly
displayed on a hotel couch.
"Umm. Babe. You realize this is a hotel, right?"
"Yeah. Knowing how much I'm spending kind of clued me in to that one. What's your point."
"Well, honey, how many people do you think have sat on that couch? How many people do you think have...done things on that couch? How many people do you think ..."
"Ahhhh! Stop! Shit. I feel itchy. Can you catch crabs from a hotel couch?"
I can't help but laugh until I cry. But Jasen was so paranoid he jumped in the shower again.

As a side note, the fact that I don't think the male figure ranks up there with Monet drives my husband crazy. If he knew who Monet was it would piss him off even more. But I get a pass on that one. He could care less about his flaws. We all have them. It's just that, as a woman, and as a particularly crazy woman, I obsess over every flaw I have. OK. ADD side note over.