Mike and I were brushing teeth, talking, etc. I started to put on jammies, when I noticed Mike’s shocked expression and all- out stare. We’ve been married too long for that sort of thing to happen often, so something was definitely going on. I didn’t have to wonder long.

"WHO is ‘Rick’, and why is his PHONE NUMBER written on your stomach?"

"Oh!" I looked down and collapsed into giggles. There, in black ink across my stomach is a phone number I’d totally forgotten about. (Don’t you just covet my organizational skills?!)

Mike tried to look stern and raises and eyebrow. He just looked cute, since I can tell he isn’t mad at all, despite the circumstances.

"Well…?"

"It’s the plaster guy you wanted me to call. He left his number on voicemail, no paper, I was nursing. You know."

"Uh huh."

"It’s MY handwriting, yaknow!"

"It was just a surprise to see another man’s number on you. That. Just. Does. Not…. look right."

(He had a point, of course.) The rest of the night he just looked at me in disbelief and shook his head.

Fortunately he knows me well enough to know I’m nowhere near tempted to let anybody else see that stretch marked area – much less get close enough to write their contact info on me.

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