Texas, Y’all.

My Davester is from Texas.  When I say “from” Texas, I mean that loosely since he was born there at Fort Hood and then left when he was six weeks old.  So there really isn’t a Texas bone in his body other than it happened to be where his Dad was stationed at the time.  It’s still a running joke in his family that he’s a Texan and he does {and I do too} still have family there.

When his cousin Bekah graduated from college, Dave’s mom brought him this hideous pride filled Texas belt buckle back from her trip.  It is really a sight to behold, this belt. 

So, as we were putting our bedroom back together after our disastrous two months of rooming with Finn, we started going through everything and being merciless with the stack for Goodwill.  Those turquoise capris that I wore at my mom’s wedding on St. Martin?  Buh bye.  Three pairs of black dress pants that Dave didn’t remember having?  Gone.  If you haven’t worn it, it goes.  If it’s dated or worn, put it on a list to look for a new {insert item here} and say adios to the old one.

Anything that either of us absolutely hated on the other one got a good once over and unless it was beloved, it went in the pile.  No mercy!  

And then, we came to the belt buckle at midnight, right after Dave put up the new belt rack.  We were completely slap happy and laughing about another belt he got rid of that hadn’t seen the circumference of his waist in probably 10 years. 

“Are you ditching this?” I asked holding up the Texas buckle.  “I don’t think you’ve worn it once since your Mom brought it back.”

“I’ve worn it once.”

“In five years!”

“I’ll wear it tomorrow.  I’ll even wear it to work, just for pure entertainment value.”

“If you wear this sucker to work tomorrow, you can keep it.”

“Challenge accepted!  I am also going to wear it to your doctor’s appointment.”

And then we laughed.  A lot. 

And y’all, you know he did. 

Right there with his preppy little country club shorts.