Last night I pulled H aside and told him I had to show him my race pics from last weekend. See, there were two okay ones and one where I looked like I had the legs of a 60 y.o. lady.
I used this as evidence that I *need* new shorts.
Of course I had to needle him and point and yell "My legs look HORRIBLE, omg, why are they flapping in the wind? Don't they look awful?".
He did his usual, "oh O-face, you're crazy!".
I can NEVER catch him.