The economic crisis has made a housewife out of my husband. Once he wore crisp suits and attended glamorous industry functions; now he wears a gray hoodie with an old pair of jeans and considers walking to the post office an event. His underwear is visible through a rip in the crotch of his jeans that has become so large it has nearly severed the leg from the waistband; I was shocked when I found out he regularly walks along our main road in them. He also wears flip-flops and socks, wedging the thong deep in the fabric, making his feet look like they belong to a ninja, and loudly protests that going to the grocery store is not a “fashion show.” Keep reading »
