So the other day I was minding my own business, folding towels and assorted things. Suddenly I found a shirt that was stuck to one of the towels and pulled it off.

I thought it was Alpha Hubby’s gym shirt. I then realized it was my shirt and it was a shirt that wasn’t supposed to go through the dryer.

“Well, crud,” I mumble.

“What?” asked AH from the other room.

“I just found a shirt that wasn’t supposed to go through the dryer,” I reply.

“Well, what is it doing in the dryer then,” he asks, starting the male trek toward Alpha death.

“I must not have seen it when I put the clothes in the washer,” I reply.

“Well, if you had been more careful, it wouldn’t be in the dryer,” he tosses out, edging closer to Alpha death with each word.

I’m thinking, “What is the matter with this guy that he doesn’t value his life?”

He smirkingly continues, “I’m only trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help here. There is no fixing this. The shirt is shrunk,” I said, stating the obvious.

“Bet you’ll be more careful next time, huh,” he says, laughing as he saunters down the hallway toward the bedroom.

*cricket cricket*

“You know,” I shout, “you’ll have to fall asleep sometime.”

*Snicker snicker* “Yeah, right, babe, shaking in my boots here.”

“Grrrrrrrrr,”  a typical ending to most conversations a woman has married to an Alpha Male.