This is going to be a short, sweet lesson this week, and when you get to the picture below you’ll really see what I’m talking about. You see, as you’re reading this, I’m actually sitting in Munich, under a beer tent, hoisting mugs of frothy German brew to my face with both hands.
But wait – How are you typing and drinking those gargantuan beers at the same time you ask? Well, it’s a miracle of technology, really. In a rare but powerful moment of NyQuil induced clarity, I realized that I can write ahead of time and set this puppy to post whenever I want.
Yes, I am slow with figuring out basic WordPress stuff. I am also suffering from an ass-kicking cold that better be gone or at the very least muffled by the medicinal powers of bratwurst by the time you get this. Because attending Oktoberfest has been a lifelong dream of Husband’s, and I just can’t be sick for it. Something tells me I’ll feel plenty sick afterwards, but that’s nothing a little rest and maybe a big soft pretzel won’t fix.
In preparation for this momentous occasion, I followed our good German friend’s advice and made a little stop at a store called Finn Austria. And because I never, ever, EVER miss an opportunity to dress Husband in ways that make me amused, I went ahead and purchased these:
Am I the best wife ever or what?!
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culottes de peau
Pronunciation: coo-lots de poh
Definition: Lederhosen. Leave it to the French to give a very German thing their own name. As in,
“I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell can’t wait to see Husband in his new culottes de peau!”