I'm Sorry, What?!?

I do not know what I ever said that led Samuel Buttmansion to believe I valued honesty above all things in marriage, but whatever it was, I would like to officially take it back.

Last week I walked by the mirror and noticed that my nipples seemed bigger than usual.  I mentioned this to Sam.

This morning, he popped his head out of the shower and concurred with my evaluation of my nipples as 'huge,' then cheerfully observed that they probably just looked bigger because of all the weight I'd gained recently.  Yes, ladies, he went there!

Now, in the interest of fairness, I should point out that I have gained ten pounds.  Fine.  I blame stress, and the fact that my period has bloated me up into such a state of extreme puffiness that I am currently muffin-topping over the waistband of my jeans.  Last time I walked by a Pillsbury display at the supermarket, the doughboy said "Dayumn, Girl!" I also blame Girl Scouts and their damnably delicious cookies, Kraft Foods, and whoever invented the Reese's Peanut Butter Egg.

However, none of those things caused my husband to verbally acknowledge my expanding ass, or subsequently attempt to defend his actions.

What I want to know is, how in the bleeding fuck are we supposed to get through any sort of protracted fertility battle if he can't turn a blind eye to a pound or twenty, hmmm?