I Don’t Always Judge Womens’ Clothing at Church, But When I Do, I Like to Grill My Husband About It

Yesterday there was a christening during Mass and I was a little distracted by the mother’s outfit. She looked a lot better than I had three months after giving birth to my babies, plus she was wearing, like, a four-inch long mini-skirt and heels so high that I was afraid she’d pitch forward any second and fall down with the baby. I couldn’t get a good look at her décolletage, though, because it was obscured by the infant.

Anyway, after Mass I broached the subject with my husband, the P-Dawg, because there is nothing but nothing I love better than quizzing him on celebrity pop culture and other women’s outfits.

“That was a nice christening. Did you see the heels on the mother? I was amazed she was able to stay upright for an hour.”

The P-Dawg hadn’t. “Why would you notice anybody’s shoes?” he wondered.

“Are you serious?” I said, “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Rima, only women look at each other’s clothes.”

“So, are you saying that when you look at a person, your line of vision just kind of stops at the shins? Because I’m telling you, this lady was like a walking monster truck. You would have to be practically blind not to notice that.”

“I was praying.”

“I bet you noticed her skirt, though. Am I right?”

“I did notice her skirt,” said the P-Dawg.

“And what did you notice about it?”

“I was thinking I could really use a fishing jig in that same neon yellow color.”