I am a wife, and mother of two in a household that has fostered more than our fair share of pets. The downside of this distinctive and matronly title is that I get Goobered on. A lot.
I have been pooped on, peed on, and puked on more times than I can remember. On a daily basis, I endure food goobers, drink goobers, dust goobers, kid goobers, pet goobers, paint goobers, glue goobers, and UFO goobers.
An entire section of my closet is reserved for my Goober clothes: Wash and wear attire that I can sport to perform all those daily gooberish tasks.
In contrast, I can count on one hand, the number of times that I have had reason to don my little black dress that hides in the corner.
When my husband comes home from a long day at the office, dressed in his Oxford shirt and dockers, he will always look me over before submitting to huggies and kissies.
"What?"
"Just checking for Goobers dear."
Ahhh, romance.
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