This isn’t going to follow the line of my typical “Dear Husband” letters, as it is not a typical story at all, but I do believe once you read this… you will not only have pissed yourself laughing, but will understand why the title of this blog is what it is.
I would suggest that any male family members (ahem, DAD) turn back now. Do NOT read this. This may include female family members as well. Hell, ALL FAMILY over the age of say… 30… click that little X button in your top right corner. I’d prefer to be able to make eye contact with you again in the future.
Even my own husband, the one I am titling this to, has NOT heard this story. It’s that bad.
Now let’s cut to Tuesday.
Tuesday is drinking night in this house. Why? I guess we figure it’s in between weekends… Really I don’t have a good explanation- it just is.
I will have you all know that I am what I would call a “responsible” drinker. I don’t do overly stupid shit (usually), I don’t go out in public and get completely shithoused. I have never driven drunk. I just stay home, have a few drinks, and put myself to bed before I ever even get close to feeling as though I want to taste dinner again.
Well, I suppose the amount of tylenol and ibuprofen i’ve been alternating between over the past week had built up in my fragile little system, because my normal level of drinks took me from zero to drunk in 2.5 seconds. Alright, maybe not THAT fast, but it was so fast I didn’t see it coming- and because of that the rest of the night is an absolute blur.
When I awoke in the morning, I didn’t feel bad, just fuzzy on the previous night’s events… like how I got to bed or why I still had a face full of makeup. You know it’s a bad night when you don’t even manage to wash your face or take off your bra (plus your boobs will hate you).
As i’m making breakfast, my husband… caring man that he is… informs me that he “still can’t find last night’s condom”
So, not only is there drunk sex that I cannot remember, but now a missing condom at play here. But it gets worse,
“i’ve looked everywhere, there’s only one place left it can be…”
Can you guess where he was implying he left the missing condom? I’m sure your instincts are correct there. The thought of it pissed me off- like tea kettle screaming, hitting the roof kind of pissed off.
So not only was there drunk sex I did not remember, but asshole husband can’t even keep track of a condom (and no lectures about BC here, never AGAIN and we have to prevent babies somehow)? And people wonder why we have issues.
I am further pissed by the notion because by implying there is a condom somewhere floating around my woman part, he is also implying that somehow that area is so large and cavernous that a foreign object could be stuck up there and I would not know. AS IF! As much as I joke about “throwing a hotdog down a hallway”– MY VAGINA IS NOT A HALLWAY!
The best plan of attack, in my mind, is not only to not speak to him for the rest of the day, but to find the damn condom myself just to prove his dumb drunk ass wrong… only… it’s honestly nowhere to be found.
This does not please me in the slightest, as now I have to consider the stupid idea that a condom might be lodged somewhere you never want one lodged. Still, in my mind, there was absolutely NO way this could ever be possible. I’d feel it, i’m positive of that.
To further confirm my suspicions that the area in question was clear, I did a sweep. A THOROUGH investigation of the crime scene. And wouldn’t you know it, no casualties to be found. I did a little “HA FUCKING HA” head bobble to myself and went to bask in my victory to the husband, quite positive that one day he’s going to step onto something cold and squishy and i’m going to spend the next hour laughing until I piss my pants. That was Wednesday.
On Thursday morning (as I explained in last night’s blog) I had to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn for an appointment. I stumbled my tired ass down the stairs, still dark out, and into the downstairs bathroom to get ready as to not wake the kids.
The first thing I do, like most people do, empty the bladder before it explodes, so I plop myself down on the pot… and that’s when I feel it. I don’t know what it is, but it doesn’t feel right.
That’s when I look down, and guess what the fuck I see come plopping on out like a chicken laying an egg?
You fucking guessed it- the missing condom.
HORRIFIED! No, horrified doesn’t even begin to explain it.. there is no word for the feeling I felt right then. The fact that a condom got stuck up my nethers for 2 days and not even a cavity search could find it?
So how can I possibly wrap up a story like this? Easy: by never wrapping it up again; And I don’t mean going bareback.. I mean NEVER LETTING HIM NEAR ME AGAIN. Someone pass me the titanium chastity belt, stat!!
Update: LOTS of people ask, so I just want to make it clear- this did NOT result in a lost condom baby! Thank you cheezus!
@wildblueME I just don't tell them what I'm making anymore
Winning Advice from an 8-year old goo.gl/fb/MmhfYU
Y'know what's awesome? I don't even have to waste time trying new recipes because my kids will tell me they hate it before I start cooking.
@Julieannefiu I still sing WRAPPED UP LIKE A DOUCHE. I think they're lying about the "real" lyrics
I sang SO many embarrassingly wrong song lyrics with such confidence. pic.twitter.com/Ww5TaAxY3r
@AndreaPerez0217 Not that I'm biased, but I highly recommend ;) Hope you enjoy!
Parenthood: you think it's gonna be all hugs & booboo kisses, but it's really cooking food everyone hates & scraping boogers off of walls.