I Married a Dork

My dad and Dave and I were at the store last weekend picking up some cleaning supplies. As we were pushing our cart past the men's clothing section, I heard this quite little voice saying "I want to buy some suspenders."

I looked around to see who was talking. It wasn't my dad--he looked just as confused as I did.

It was Dave. He said louder, "I want to buy some suspenders."

Then I said, "Wha....what?! Like for a Halloween costume?"

"No, because my pants are always falling down. It's annoying. I have to pull my pants up about a million times a day. I want suspenders." (This is true--he does this little jig every few minutes where he sorta kicks out his feet, wiggles his rear, and yanks at the waist band of his jeans.)

I couldn't contain myself and I laughed so hard that I might have snorted. Then my dad started laughing, too.

Ah...so we found him some black elastic suspenders and he loves them. God, he looks like such a dork.
I had to remind him that years ago I suggested that he use suspenders and he said "no way, that's for old guys." Well, well, well. His problem is that he has absolutely no butt whatsoever. His back goes straight down to his thighs. As he puts it using a belt for him is "like putting a belt on a tree trunk" since there's no bump below the belt to hold the belt up. Oh man, is he right.