My Killer Outfit

It would seem I am unsuitable for living life on the road.

At least I’m pretty sure that’s the point Tracey was trying to make when she refused to let me off our bus last night.

“No need to get up,” I told her when she sat up on her side of the bed and gazed, it must be said, unlovingly at me down the central aisle of our bus home.

Only half an hour earlier we’d plugged ourselves into bed and had each been snuggling into our respective iPhone apps before lights out.

“Where do you think you’re going like that?” she demanded rather than asked. At that time of night there’s really only one place I go if I get out of bed and I’d have thought after more than twenty years together she’d have cottoned on to the most likely destination. Or at least had the curiosity to ask before now.

“To the loo, if that’s okay,” I answered her with something resembling snarkiness, primarily because it was snarkiness. I’d just finished snapping on a headlight so when I turned to face her she was forced to squint back at me. “Unless for some reason you’d rather I pee into a water bottle?”

“Is this what you guys do when we’re asleep?” Master12’s drowsy voice drifted up from the bunk below our bed. “Pee in our water bottles?”

“Not yours,” I assured him.

He seemed to be satisfied with that response and drifted off back to neverland.

Tracey, on the other hand, wasn’t done with me.

“Don’t you dare leave the bus dressed like that,” she hissed.

My face said ‘dressed like what?’ but I knew exactly what she meant.

“What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?” I asked, feigning indignant. I even glanced down at my boxer briefs as though making sure they hadn’t ridden up my nethers to resemble something from the sexier end of the underwear rack in Kmart. In addition to my Batman ‘hot pants’ I was also wearing a Mario Bros tee. Not a perfect match but I rightly assumed it wasn’t the mixing of different cartoon worlds which was offending my wife.

“Seriously,” she said. “Take it off or you’ll get arrested.”

“Okay,” I grinned, removing my undies.

Because any opportunity.

“You know what I mean,” she said. “Put them back on before one of the kids wakes up and sees you.”

With a sigh I pulled them up then took my dressing gown down off the hanging racks over the driver’s seat to wrap myself in.

Even this I only did because Tracey has this thing about me covering my fantastic underwear when I walk to the loos. Even if it’s close to midnight and the nearest camper is thirty meters away. Even if it’s really hot outside.

I confess, my standards have dropped somewhat since we took off on our big lap a year ago. Sunday, at eleven a.m., I walked to the loo past several dozen campsites in my dressing gown, primarily because I hadn’t put on pants yet. Not that I think my geekies would have raised an eyebrow. There was a guy walking about here yesterday in nothing but budgie smugglers and thongs, and no one seemed even mildly offended.

“There,” I said, making a show of spinning around for Tracey to inspect I was all covered up. “Happy?”

There was a pause, during which her face gave every indication she was going to say she wasn’t, before she instead rolled her eyes so far back in her head her body seemed to follow and flopped back and she ended up lying down in bed again.

“Do what you want,” she called out in a tone which clearly indicated she didn’t want me to do what I want but couldn’t be stuffed going into it any more. “I’ll come bail you out tomorrow. It’s late and I’m tired and I can’t tell if you’re joking or you’ve finally lost the plot. I suspect,” she added, “the latter.”

Whereas I think I’ve finally worked out how to go potty after bedtime without having to waste several minutes removing and then setting up my sleep apnea machine.

I tell you what, here’s a pic. Why don’t you be the judge?

Raising a family on little more than laughs

– this post is not sponsored or gifted –