I have to tell you this story. El Hubbo has banned me from telling anymore stories on him unless I am equally periodically humiliated. Little does he know that I have no problem telling stories on myself that I find objectively humorous. And, besides, I do love telling stories on El Hubbo, so the sacrifice is worth it. El Hubbo is a high maintenance trophy husband. (He promised me a vast empire when he asked me to marry him. I am still searching for that vast empire. Every time I express a doubt about its existence, he vehemently defends his claim that it does not reside only in his mind. I shall continue my search, but I digress.) Keeping him in properly starched and pressed jeans and shirts requires the operating budget of a medium-sized country. Apparently, no real Texas man would have it otherwise. He has developed quite a relationship with the ladies at the dry-cleaning store since his wife refuses to stand over a boiling cauldron in the back yard starching his jeans.
The always random, occasionally complex, often confounded commentary and narrative of one West Texas woman's life.