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 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 it 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 got lodged in your ass?”
Ignoring my smart-assed remark, which he does quite often, he simply shook his head no.
“Do 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 to spread 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.