Last night, when Rhiannon and I were sitting down to eat a nutritious dinner of Oreos, ice cream, chocolate, and some crumbs we found in the corner on the floor, she asked me what seemed to be a perfectly innocent question. "Do you think my shirt is too low?"
"No. I think it's fine."
So she asked how low it actually was to a person not looking directly down from above. I told her, not thinking anything about it.
"Dang. I should really think about getting some different tank tops that don't go down so far."
"What is the problem? I think that shirt looks good."
"Of course you do. You're my husband. You're supposed to like a lower cut shirt on me. Now, imagine that you're 40 and your child's teacher is some 24 year old just out of college with her chest half hanging out in front of you. Are you going to like it then?"
"Oh, grow up already. I meant would it be appropriate, not if you'd like looking at young women when you're 40. You're sick, you know that?"
I think I was set up. And very well, too.