In my wildest dreams, I never thought my entering my own home with a guest would have to be preceded with the shouted statement to my husband; “Put your pants on, we’ve got visitors!”, but it’s true.
The Crabby Man is afflicted with the male condition known as Can’t-keep-the-pants-on-itis. Within 28 seconds of coming through the door from work, an outing, or whatever, the pants come off and he exists only in his underwear.
And now you know why some of the pictures I post are cropped in odd fashions, no pun intended. The kids do so many adorable things, unfortunately, they prefer to do them next to, or on top of, the underwear clad Crabby Man.
Remember this one from Father’s Day where Vito gave Crabby the giant stress ball to calm Crabby down for when Vito had his seizures?
It would have been better if you saw Vito at Crabby’s feet, looking up at him with adoration. The pic as cropped is funny. To see it in it’s full glory, a man in his underwear, squeezing a big orange thingy, with a tiny (don’t tell Vito I said that!) dog at his feet, well, that was pretty disturbing.
Sometimes I can creatively crop a picture when it appears Crabby’s underwear are actually shorts.
Sometimes, the kid is in such an adorable pose I figure the viewer wouldn’t spend much time pondering Crabby’s attire.
Sometimes I tearfully had to delete a picture altogether, losing forever a priceless picture of one of the kids because there was no way to edit out Crabby’s pasty white legs protruding from his tighty blueys.
Editing to preserve Crabby’s modesty is now a thing of the past, and let me tell you why:
There came an evening last week when I asked Crabby to prepare the people dinner. In usual Crabby fashion, that involved dialing the phone to order pizza. As soon as the grueling task was completed, underwear clad Crabby melded with the couch. Usually, it is me that has to finish Crabby-prepared meals by accepting the pizza at the door. Last week, I insisted Crabby be responsible for the ENTIRE dinner preparation, which included interfacing with the pizza delivery guy. One would have assumed that would mean keeping his (Crabby’s, not the pizza delivery guy’s) pants on until dinner was ready. One would have assumed wrong. When the pizza delivery guy showed up at our door, Crabby, clad in only a t-shirt, socks and underwear, proceeded to conclude the transaction.
The way I see it, if Crabby is not concerned about a total stranger, who handles our food, seeing him in his underwear, then sharing Crabby in his habitual half-dressed glory should not be a problem if shown to the world. Therefore, be prepared to see more of Crabby than you have seen before.
If per chance there happens to be a men’s underwear manufacturer out there that would like a great opportunity for some product placement, please contact Run A Muck Ranch. Crabby will gladly sport your label in exchange for dog food. Just please, no bikinis, thongs or other like garments.