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The other night, as I was feeding the baby, T-Ko was rifling through the mail and declared, "I'm over Victoria Secret."
"Huh?" I looked up. He holds up a Nordstrom lingerie catalogue. "Victoria Secret. It sucks. This. THIS is hot." T-Ko points to one of the pages, "Dude. Look at this. Isn't this hot?"
I nod and wait for his next inevitable statement: "You should wear this."
Sure. But if you think that's hot, may I also introduce you to stores called Saks, Neiman's, and Barneys...
Later in the evening, as we were brushing our teeth, T-Ko tells me he saw one of our doctors, who is sort of a Hollywood/shmoozer type, at the mall.
"... And I see him walking with this hot, young woman, and I'm like, 'uh oh.'"
"Oh no, really?" I say.
"No, it turned out it was his wife. My mom recognized her."
"Oh. Good. That would have sucked." I rinse my mouth. "What does she look like? I picture like a very fake, over the top woman..."
"No. Not at all," he says: "She's like a more put together version of you."
Dude.
