Last week, Homey and I took a roadtrip to Chicago to do some museum-y type things, some shopping, all that kind of thing. It’s about a 4 hour drive for us so, as you can imagine, the conversation on such a trip becomes pretty wide-ranging.

We had just entered Chicago when I started to tell him about this t-shirt (and all the reasons I need it):

But, since he’s all “anti-pop” (and white and 40) and hasn’t seen or heard Lemonade, I had to explain everything for the shirt to make any kind of sense.

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So, I start with an explanation of the hat and the jewelry. Then I move onto the background: “There’s this great line about, ‘When he fucks me good, I take his ass to Red Lobster,’ so there are all these little lobsters in the background.” Homey gives me one of these:

‘Cuz he’s used to Destiny’s Child, matching outfits Beyonce. Apparently, he’s never envisioned a Beyonce who drops the f bomb in a song (which is why he is MISSING OUT!).

Then I start to explain the little hot sauce bottles in the background, “There’s a line about Beyonce having ‘hot sauce in my bag swag’....”

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And I think it’s because of the road noise and/or the shock of learning that Beyonce uses “the f word” in a song, whatever it was, he immediately goes, “Fuck sauce?!”

I stop.

I look at him.

“Fuck sauce?”

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“Didn’t you just say she had fuck sauce in her bag?”

Me, officially dying of laughter, “No, HOT SAUCE, not FUCK sauce. There’s no such thing as fuck sauce!”

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Him, “Well, it sounded like you said fuck sauce.”

Me, still dying of laughter, “No, the line is about ‘hot sauce’! ‘Hot sauce in my bag swag’!”

Totally confused by what’s happening and really trying to understand what I’m saying, Homey cries out, “I don’t even know what a bags swag is!”

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And... I’m done. Full on, can’t even hold my body upright, leaning against the car window, crying with laughter. “Bags swag! Fuck sauce! I can’t!” I dissolve.

This was one of my favorite 2016 moments. Heck, it’s one of my favorite marriage moments. :)