Occasionally my husband does something wonderful. Not always intentionally, but still…
this past Thursday he put my jeans in the Boy’s dresser.
The Boy is thirteen years old and has no discernible waist, hips, thighs or butt. (Like Dad- especially the butt. The lack of butt.)
The Boy is a stick figure with nearly the same leg length as his mother who has a discernible waist, butt, hips and thighs. Especially the thighs.
The Boy is built like Kate Moss but eats like Russell Crowe. And while I’ve never seen Russell Crowe eat, he seems like a beefy fellow and he’s Australian.
Mercurial actor’s caloric intake aside, I was so enamored with spouse that I did not nag about how Stick Boy is supposed to put away his own laundry in addition to emptying the dishwasher, taking out the compost and cutting the grass.
I chose, instead, to revel in my husband’s out of date eyeglass prescription combined with his general fatigue and allowed myself to believe that I, too, am a size 12 slim.
You know the lovefest was negated later that evening when spouse noted that the Boy has filled out lately.
Fresh Air and Sarcasm 
The “stick boy” story is very funny. Keep on writing-
A fan-
My name is Mike Matonis and I endorse this comment.