Never let it be said I can't laugh at myself.

Or at my husband, at least.

Murphy did a pretty good job of making fun of us Texans a little while back. I snickered, and thought myself well above the stereotype in dress. Thought, too, that I did a good job of avoiding that same stereotype when I got married.

Then Soon-to-be-Ex showed up at my door a week or two ago in boots, a dress shirt he probably doesn't remember that I bought him, jeans way tighter than a man his age ought to be wearing (his age and, well, size), and a cowboy hat. A cowboy hat that added a good six inches to his 5'8" height.

I think he was trying to do the ol' make the ex jealous routine.

I like short guys. For reasons that aren't going to be posted on a vaguely PG-13 blog. But short guys in tall hats...

I guess uncontrollable giggling is a much better reaction to the sight of the man than the former uncontrollable crying and near-uncontrollable urge to beg for reconciliation.

But I think I hurt his widdle feelings that night, and a few nights later when I asked him what the hell he was smoking to buy a black felt hat for South Texas summer wear.

I'm not even going into the way he's now using his hats as interior decoration.

I am, however, going to mediation in an hour. No cowboy hats involved.