Am I making a short story long? Yeah I'm middle aged now so I'm gonna do that.
Back to the matches. I stuck them in the waistband of my pocket less pajama pants so I wouldn't forget them, finished picking up the room and ran upstairs. Then I stood in front of my husband in the kitchen and we paused. Like you do when you are waiting to see if you have something to say to each other or if you should just keep going to the TV/Computer/Fridge. As he was watching me about a 100 wooden match sticks came raining out of the hem of my flannel pants onto the kitchen floor.
Husband: I'm not even going to ask.
Me: It's not wrong.
And we didn't talk about it again. Which is the number one reason our marriage works so well. That and the fact that he still has a really nice ass. The End.