My next guest poster is the uber awesome, uber sexay Heather, the Queen of Shake Shake. Say hello, visit her blog and tell her she is hot. Cause she is.
Kelley asked me to guest post on her blog and, I’m embarrassed to admit this, I have this sexual fantasy thing about Australia. Even though I have no inclination to bat for the other team, there’s something sexy about Kelley that keeps me from saying no. So go ahead and call me a slut, I deserve it. (But could you say “slut” in an Australian accent? Ooooo!)
However, I ran into a problem. This problem is called T-BALL IS RUINING MY FUCKING BLOG LIFE! Who signed up for this time-consuming baseball shit? Gesh, doesn’t the coach know I’m totally not famous on the internet before he schedules all these practices?! But Kelley was gracious enough to let me recycle an old, OLD post from when I had, like, 20 readers. It’s always been one of my favorite posts and frankly, I think my underwear stains deserves more recognition. So here it goes…
If you’re anything like me, when you found out you were having a boy, your mind was filled with blue things like snips, snails, and puppy dog tails. That sounds all sweet and innocent, doesn’t it? Especially if you come from a family of ALL girls, including all girl grandchildren. But that poem is a trick! The underlying meaning is that BOYS ARE NASTY AND EVIL BECAUSE WHO WOULD CUT OFF PUPPY DOG TAILS?
The nastiness of boys knows no end.
As I’m folding laundry one day, I pick up a pair of 4T underwear and make some off-handed remark about boys and skid marks. I then pick up a pair of my husband’s underwear to fold and comment on how they must never outgrow it…
“You’re one to talk!” retorts Wally
“Excuse me?” I say, as I make a face that really says ‘what the fuck?’
“I’ve folded your panties before. Your skid marks are worse than mine!” he defensively replies.
My ‘what the fuck?’ look is immediately replaced with an incredulous expression of disbelief.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“The stains in your underwear. Hello!” he smugly declares.
“Oh. My. God. That is NOT skid marks!”
“Ohmygod, have you never heard of the self-cleaning properties of a vuh jay jay?” I smart back as my voice rises in tone and pitch.
“The what?” he asks in a confused manner.
And I had to explain to my husband of over 10 years how vuh jay jays are like self-cleaning ovens and have this daily, um, stuff, because they’re, well, self-cleaning! And once the panties start to show some age, especially white ones, um, yeah. It is NOT skid marks!
There we stood, face-to-face over a bed piled full of laundry, and I know for 10 years my husband has held this image of me standing all alone in the kitchen in my usual put-together Gap mom look, ripping wet, juicy, skid-mark making farts in my pretty lace-trimmed hipster panties.
I would have to be alone when I acted out this disgusting bodily function because he has never EVER heard me release a juicy fart. Because I don’t. I go sit on the toilet if I’m in doubt of the moisture quality of impending flatulence…..like all grown people should!
Not only did he believe I ripped these types of juicy farts, but that I did it to such degrees that I was worse than a man.
WORSE THAN A MAN!
For over 10 years of marriage he has held this image of me and my panties in his mind.
How will our marriage ever recover from the psychological scars of this 10-year belief?