I love my husband. Anyone who knows me probably thinks I worship him and have a hidden room in my house that has pictures of him everywhere with candles lit to give him constant praise. Yes, he is my favorite person and I constantly tell him that. He is my favorite person...until he does these little things to me that make me crazy. When he does these things I want to kill him. It usually ends with me screaming for the neighbors to hear, me swearing loudly at him, throwing out some smart ass remark, and of course, him laughing hysterically the whole time.
Mike is a gassy, gassy man. Not as much lately because he has cut back on drinking a lot of coke, but still he does drink his protein shakes that have the tendency to stink the place up. Every day I have to get a hug from him. It's our way of expressing that the day is winding down, we're done dealing with work, and it's just our gesture of "it's family time now." Sometimes, not every time, when I go in for my hug, he'll hug me long and hard and suddenly the trumpets are blaring out of his ass. I try to pull away, and he pulls me in closer. As I pull away with all my strength he tries to gently comfort me, "C'mon Kathy. Just stay with me and take it all in." This is when I start to scream and swear. The thing is, it's not always the sound of trumpets. It starts off that way and always ends like it is under mud or water. You know what I'm saying. Wet. Should he wipe? Should he change his pants? Maybe he should take a shower.
That's when I get frightened. I don't want to be held and caressed by someone who just shit themselves. Really.
Another treat is in bed. I know what you're thinking, and no he doesn't do the "tent." No, his is more sneaky. It's always the little ones that I don't hear and then when I think he's being sweet and wants to nestle up to me, he lifts the sheets to roll closer to me. When he lifts those sheets, he fans his smelly fecal matter into my face and up my nostrils. Grrrrross. When I try to get away, he quickly grabs my arm and pulls me into his poison. All the while, he has his eyes closed like he's sleeping but has a shit-eating grin on his face. He's so mean. In fact, he did this to me last night. The pride he has when his farts make your eyes water, is priceless.
Then there's the car. Oh, god, yuck. When we're driving somewhere and he's smelly, he always has the window lock on. There's no escape. The only relief we get is when it's just too much for even Mike to handle. There have been many times that I have gone out to his car to get something and as soon as I open the car door the most bazaar smell wafts in my face and causes me to scrunch my nose up, quickly grab what I need, and slam the door shut. When I get back in the house and ask Mike what the hell died in his car, his response is usually, "Oh, yeah. I had really bad gas today. Sorry." But he laughs hard when he says this.
Mike likes to play tricks on me, too. There have been several occasions that he is in our bathroom pooping and yells for me to get him some toilet paper. "Kathy! There's not enough toilet paper. Could you get me a new roll? I think there's some under the sink." Of course, being the good wife that I am, I quickly get up and grab him a new roll. He opens the door for me to hand it to him and as soon as I notice that there is a full roll already in there, he grabs my hand before I can get away. Mind you, this all seems to happen in slow motion. Again, he keeps me there telling me just to be okay with it. "It's gonna be okay, Kathy. Just relax." I pull away from him as hard as I can, usually standing at a 45 degree angle, ready to crack my head open on the counter if he lets go at the right time. I could care less. At least I'll be out cold not concerned whether Mike's poo particles are entering my lungs.
I can't help but laugh about these little tortures that Mike puts me through, because it seems to bring him such joy. How can I deny him that? He's such a boy and such a kid at the same time. He laughs so hard at himself with such delight at his accomplishment, I can't help but usually laugh along with him (still angry though). It's funnier though, when I lift the sheets at night to send a little good night kiss to his nasal passage. He never expects that from me.