My OSHA Certified Husband

Or switch those letters around a tad and maybe: Oh, my certifiable husband.

Another good title: Preparing for Mother-in-Law Arrival

Imagine what my neighbor was thinking out on her front porch when she saw Stan moments ago walking in our front door looking like this. Toxic waste. Toilet explosion. Grease fire, I don't know. She won't ask either. She's the quiet type. She'll just pretend she never saw it. Why did he put on his OSHA hazardous waste garb outside rather than inside? It makes him look like he's doing important work...or dressing up for an early Halloween. Or maybe one might put two and two together - kids are at school...they're home alone on a Thursday afternoon...

No, here's the deal, get your mind out of the gutter. We keep wondering what is lurking up in the tiny rooftop room above our son's attic bedroom. He has had a hideous cough for 4 months and we began wondering if there is black mold, squirrel nests and bat guano drafting through the vent above his head. So yesterday Stan ventured up there expecting the worse. He found nothing but dust, but a lot of it and figured that can't be helping. So he's goin' up to clean it up. Notice, I'm down in the computer room documenting and poking fun rather than helping.

Well, he's happy. His ascending words were I've been waiting for a chance to wear these, I've had them forever. Well, it's the little things in life.
Tomorrow he'll be 46, so his dress-up days are dwindling.