art by Phillie Cheesie
Intimate discussions between spouses should not be posted
all over the internet for the world to see...unless the discussions are hilarious.
And lucky for me, my husband offers up some hilarious interaction.
First off, I should be more respectful of my husband Ed’s anonymity. So from here on out he’ll be known as Clive.
So…one evening, I was sitting on the couch, minding my own
business, scrolling through cat videos on Facebook, (They crack me the hell up) when Clive
strolled out of the bathroom naked, gently cradling a stack of comic books (He does his best reading in the bathroom) and
muttering to himself.
As I stared at his nakedness rifling through comic book
stacks on the coffee table, I couldn’t help but giggle. He ignored me but
continued grumbling to no one in particular.
I thought, “I’ll bite.”
So I asked in my sweet concerned wife voice, “Hey Babe what
cha bitchin about? And why are you airing out your balls?”
Clive gave me the LOOK as he does when I ask him things he
deems inappropriate- but surprisingly, he answered my question. Although he never did tell me why he was naked.
“I’m having… issues. Bathroom issues.”
Knowing he was in some sort of distress, I took an interest
in helping him out in some way. I am compassionate…sometimes. Okay, so I might
not be delicate in my approach but after years of marriage-- why beat around
the bush?
“So you can’t poop?”
Again I got the LOOK. Clive is not a man to discuss bodily
functions. He finds them distasteful and crude. I, on the other hand, find them
highly amusing. He rolled his eyes and headed back towards the bathroom.
I dug my heels in.
“I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”
He doubled back into the living room, voice raised and testicles
a-flapping.
“No. I can’t.”
I offered what I thought, was helpful advice.
“Did you drink enough water today? Did you eat any fiber?”
He nodded.
“Did you eat too much cheese or hold your poop in too long?
Maybe you sat on something hateful and it lodged deep in your ass?”
Ignoring my smart-assed remark, which he does quite often,
he simply shook his head no.
“Do you want a laxative?”
“No. I do not want a laxative.” He snorted.
I was running out of ideas. “I may have an old suppository
that may or may not work. But I’m not inserting it for you.”
Glaring at me now, he roared, “No, I don’t want you to shove a suppository
up my ass.”
“Good cause it ain’t happening.” I snapped back but I wasn’t
finished being ‘helpful.’
“Did you try grabbing
each cheek, spreading them out as far apart as possible and just let the poop
fall out? I heard lubing up with Crisco helps. I think ours in butter flavored…”
Sufficiently pissed off at me, he bellowed his most famous
line to date, “Woman, don’t tell me how to poop!” And he trudged back to the
bathroom and slammed the door.
Did he just scream, “Woman, don’t tell me how to poop??”
Oh...
my... God, that is hysterical. My husband is a damn comedian and he doesn’t even
know it!
I may have that line carved on his tombstone when he croaks.
To this day, when I’m baking cookies or see a naked man
reading comic books, I can’t help but smile and fight the urge to offer the
dude what may-or-may-not be a suppository.
