I blame Zac Posen for my latest obsession. The other night on "Project Runway," when one of the designers offered up a bunch of lame excuses to match his fairly meh outfit, Zac cut him off at the pleats. "Coulda woulda shoulda." Now hubby and I have latched onto this expression and can't let it go. Hang on, did I say hubby? I did. He loves "Project Runway," too. It may be because I force him to watch it and love it. But it's not much of a leap for him. I mean, come on, he's all about the fashion. Every morning, he stares at his vast array of nearly-identical shirts and reviews his choices. "What do you think about this one? Or should I go with this one?" I don't have the heart to tell him these shirts of his, mainly blue with blue stripes, are interchangeable. I don't want to hurt his feelings. He bruises easily. So I remain diplomatic: "They look exactly the same, honey. There's absolutely no difference to the human eye. If you put a gun to my head, God forbid, I wouldn't be able to tell one shirt from the other."
Back to Zac and the mishegas he's unleashed in my household. We've taken things to a new and maniacal level:
"Woulda shoulda coulda to you, this morning."
"Coulda woulda shoulda to you."
"Coulda woulda? Not woulda coulda?"
"Zac said coulda woulda."
"Look at you quoting Zac Posen."
"First and last time."
"Are you sure Zac didn't say shoulda coulda woulda?"
"He didn't."
"What's the right way to say it? Coulda woulda, woulda coulda, shoulda woulda?"
"It's a toss up. See you later."
"Where're you going?"
"I still have to recycle these bottles from the party."
"You said you were going to do that on Monday."
"Coulda woulda shoulda."
"Woulda coulda shoulda."
"You're never going to stop with this, are you?"
"Shoulda coulda woulda."
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