Who wears the pants in this house?

As usual, I was watching "Friends" when the boyfriend arrived home from work tonight. We have the routine down pat: He comes in, dumps his stuff on the dining room table and shuffles over to the couch to give me a peck.

But I noticed something odd about him as soon as he walked in the door. His jeans fit him strangely. They were baggy in weird places. They were lower rise than he usually wears. They had a bit of flare to the legs. The pocket pattern was oddly familiar, though I had never seen it on him before.

And then it dawned on me. He was wearing MY jeans. My old, worn jeans that I only put on when I have no place in particular to go had somehow ended up in his drawer. And instead of looking at the label to see that they clearly were women's jeans, he wore them. All day. At the office.

I laughed so hard I nearly peed myself. Even now I'm giggling about it.

He's been complaining I've not given him a nickname for this blog, so from now on he shall be known as Hot Pants.