Old man or pimp? You decide.

What makes a person “old?”  Is it just me, or is it that the older you get, the more this answer changes?  I’ve been plucking out gray hairs (in between colors) for at least 2 years, but last year I decided that didn’t make me “old.”  In fact, I told my hair stylist “You’re not old until your pubes are gray.”

Except, now my husband has gray ear hair, so where does that leave him?  That’s (literally) a gray area…it’s not head hair, but not pubes.  I didn’t have to ponder this for long though because something else led me to the determination that my husband is officially old.  No, he didn’t get his AARP card, but just listen.

Remember last summer when I got my UGG slippers?  These slippers have become my best friend, if I’m home, they’re with me. A few One time I even wore them to take my kids to school.  Don’t judge.

AnyMILF.  Because I love my slippers so much, I wanted my husband to feel that same love.  So, I got him a pair of slippers for Christmas.  They’re similar to this, but darker brown:

I chose those specific ones because I remember when I was growing up my Grandpa always had a pair of slippers like that.  I think Grandpa’s are probably a good judge of slippers.  After I bought the slippers, I then decided to buy him a pair of flannel pajama pants.  I was actually skeptical about this whole gift, because when I suggested buying Shawn slippers before, he scoffed at it.  Hater.

So, Christmas morning came, the slippers got opened, and Shawn was in love.  So much so, that he brought them to my parent’s house to wear on Christmas Day.  And then he brought them to Ohio with us.  And long story short, Shawn + slippers = True Love Always.

The story is not over though people.  I would never end a post with “True Love Always,” you know me better than that.

I wanted Shawn to like this gift, but I didn’t want him to like it so much that he became an old man creeper.  That’s right, with one gift (well, technically 2), I turned my husband into an old man.  (I just added the creeper part for good measure.)

One morning over a week ago, I was in our bedroom when Shawn came in and declared “Boy, with weather like this, it sure doesn’t feel like the end of December!”  And then I looked over and saw what he was wearing.

Had he been wearing the slippers and pajama bottoms, and been smoking a cigar, he could have looked like a pimp.  But, when you’re wearing pajama pants, slippers, a stained white t-shirt, and then you start talking about the weather?  All you look is old.