“Annie, what are you doing?”  

I stood stock still, my mouth agape and my eyes wide as I turned my head slowly to the left to find Nick standing in the doorway of his laundry room with his hands on his hips.  I gripped the offending sweatpants and willed my fingers to hold their vice-like grip on the wad of red cotton blend that I had suspended in the air above the stainless steel trash can. “Laundry?”  I answered with a sheepish grin.

My fiancee chuckled, the laugh lines around his bright blue eyes sending my heart aflutter like they always did.  “Laundry?  Is that what you call it when you’re throwing away my favorite pants?” he asked as he sauntered towards me.  

“What?  No!”  I looked down in mock surprise.  “This is the hamper, isn’t it?”

“No,” he replied shortly.  

“Oops.  My bad!”  I shrugged exaggeratedly, and one of the sweatpant legs flew upwards and hit me in the mouth.  I nearly gagged and immediately tossed them across the room towards the hamper.  Nick’s hand shot out and  caught them in a swift interception.

“Actually, I was looking for those.”  

I crinkled my nose in disgust.  “But they’re dirty.”

“So?”  He held them up by the faded elastic waist and and the crumpled ball of red legs fell towards the floor and hovered precariously over the marbled brown ceramic tile.  He examined the back of them while I took in the front. A dingy off-white drawstring dangled down in front of the crotch seam and a quarter-sized coffee stain was just to its left. The faded outlines of bulky pockets had appeared on the thighs after hundreds of washes.  Two small holes grazed the right knee, and though I couldn’t see it, I knew that a thin bleach splatter trailed from the left buttcheek down to the calf.  I sighed.  Those buttcheeks looked so much better in a pair of designer jeans.   At least the leg openings weren’t cinched together with elastic around the ankles.  I wouldn’t put it past him to wear a pair like that.  In fact, I’d caught a glimpse of him heading out to go to the gym in a pair of black ones like that just the day before.  At least those weren’t red.  “I’m just wearing them to rehearsal.” Nick reasoned.

“Aren’t you taping for the documentary today?”

“Yep.” He unbuttoned his jeans and dropped them down to his ankles, then stooped down to hold them in place while he stepped out of them.  He straightened the waistband of his black cotton boxers and started pulling on his beloved sweatpants.  

“Don’t you at least want to wear something clean?”  I asked hopefully.  

“Nah.  This documentary’s supposed to be real life, baby.”  He emphasized the words “real life, baby” as he pulled them over his hips and snapped the waistband loudly against his toned abs.  

I rolled my eyes.  “And real life is that you wear those ugly things every other day.”

“Exactly.”  He grinned smugly as his large hands landed on my hips, grasping them firmly, and  he pulled me into him so that our torsos were touching.  “They’re just so comfortable,” he murmured against my neck, his warm breath making my hair follicles stand on end.

 “Like you.”  I giggled as he hoisted me up onto the washing machine and wrapped my legs around his waist.  He bent down to plant a kiss on my neck, then my cheek, then the other cheek, and finally my lips.  He snaked his arms around my waist  and hugged me, resting his chin on my shoulder so that his lips grazed my right ear.  “Do you really think they’re ugly?”  I imagined his bottom lip jutting out into an expert pout.  

“Yes,” I answered quickly. This prompted him to dig his index fingers into my ribs and start tickling me mercilessly.

“Nick, stop!”  I squealed through my laughter as I tried to wiggle out of his grasp.  “I’m going to pee!”

He pulled his hands away from me immediately.  “We can’t have that.  Then I wouldn’t be able to wear my pants!”  

I crossed my arms across my chest and stuck my tongue out at him playfully.  “On second thought.....”

“Well, that’s just gross.”

I laughed.  “You’re right.  What time do you have to be there?”

“Nine.”

I glanced up at the clock on the wall behind his head.  “It’s 8:47, Nick.  In rush-hour traffic, it’s going to take you at least half an hour to get there,” I scolded.  

He shrugged.  “AJ will be later than I will,” he predicted (probably accurately).

“Well, you still better get going.”  He groaned and wrapped his arms back around my waist.  “I like it here,” he whined.

I smiled and ran my fingers through his hair, then dropped a light kiss onto his forehead.  “Me too, but at least you’ll see me before you finish practicing today.”

“True,” he murmured against my lips before giving them a quick peck and peeling himself off of me.   “What time are you planning to be there?”

“About one.  Kristin and I are picking up lunch, so you better be ready for the run-through by the time we get there.  You know she’s too polite to start eating before everyone else, and nobody wants to deal with a grumpy pregnant lady.”  

He laughed.  “True.”

It was the last In a World Like This tour rehearsal in LA before they left for China in a few days, and it was tradition for their families/wives/girlfriends to sit in on the last rehearsal and be the first to see the show-- a dress rehearsal of sorts.  And mine was going to be wearing those horrible red sweatpants with the fancy fedora as he performed the “All I Have to Give” hat routine.  I sighed as he jogged out the door, barely even able to enjoy the view that was so rudely obstructed by those obnoxious pants.  He may have won this particular battle, but when it came to those pants, I decided it was time for war.