The man to die for’s dumbass move, or Why married men should never be allowed to do things for themselves

So we went to Pebble Beach for Bob's grandmother's 95th birthday. As the mom, we all know it's my responsibility to buy the cards for every birthday, anniversary, etc for any one that we want to be acknowledged with a card, right? I see you all nodding out there. OK. So I've bought the cards. And, I handed out said cards to various male people in my house to be signed. Steve signed his card. No problem.

Here's the dumbass move. First, a question. How long have Bob & I been signing joint cards? Give up? (Bob apparently didn’t know the answer either). 22 years. I'll spell it out for any dumbass husbands out there. Twenty-two years. It goes like this. When a card gets signed for his family, he does the writing. When it's for my family member, I do the writing. Either way, both our names get signed. This is not rocket science. It's worked this way for 22 years. Well, Grammy opens her cards, and there's one from Steve, and one from Bob. None from Lori. Huh? Dumbass husband didn't know he was supposed to sign my name because he saw me with 2 cards. He assumed the other one was from me.

Ever since Jeff was born, every grandparent or great-grandparent has gotten 2 cards – one from us, and one from the grandkids. I repeat – not rocket science. What makes this birthday any different? Oh, I know. I didn’t specifically tell him – "Sign it from both of us." Silly me. Dumbass husband.

P.S. I offer up my heartfelt thanks to That 70's Show and specifically to Red Forman for the fantastic introduction of dumbass into my vocabulary.