Life can be such a bridge

Chuck’s been laid up in bed the last two days with kidney stone issues—do I need to take him in more often for servicing?—so the ex-nanny came yesterday. Her son grew a buttload of crooked teeth, giving him a distinct Ferengi look, but I was pleased Junior’s nickname is still intact.

As she was packing up her stuff to leave, Diana told me that Junior was saying the…[here she paused, looking for the right word]…darndest thing.

“Yes?” I asked.

“He was saying, ‘Come on…bitch. Come on, bitch’.”

“What???”

“When he was playing with his Thomas the train set—”

“—Bridge! He meant bridge. That’s how he says bridge.”

“Oh! Of course. He was trying to piece the tracks together to make a tunnel, but they wouldn’t fit. Ooooohhhhhhhhh.”

We had a good wholesome chuckle then. Still, as she dragged her child and cheese and loaf of bread to her car, I couldn’t help but wonder what she’d been envisioning all afternoon before we cleared the matter up: Me smacking Chuck’s ass in front of Junior and nodding towards the bedroom, saying, “Come on, bitch”?

Oops, I mean my Chuck slapping my ass.

Mrs. Mullet, you are not the dude.

Do you like my new look?

I'm such an ass. Poor Chuck is on the way to the hospital to have his kidney stone removed (Junior and I offered to drive him but he declined). Apparently the stone is, um, too big to pass. Well, one of the five anyway.

When he gets home I'm going to give him a big, uncomplicated hug.

If he let's me.

But I'm prettier than the toilet!

When a friend of mine raved about "Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus" I had a nice hearty laugh. First, John Gray “Ph.D.” looks androgynous and sickly—the very antithesis of someone enjoying couplehood success. Second, I likened the book to the kind of fodder you’d find in Cosmo. You know, an article that promises a better relationship if only you, the woman, would greet your man at the door with a can of Ready Whip and your hottest friend…

You know what, though? The book is right on the money. How else to explain the great divide between the sexes than planetary dissimilitude?
Clearly we’re not speaking the same language. Clearly, Dr. Gray’s wisdom has been shuffled off the shelves and replaced with something less important, like “Beer Funneling for Dummies."

Case in point, Tuesday’s discord.

As I mentioned, Charles came home early from his Viking quest—but with organ issues. Despite the obvious pain on his face and the fact that he was hunched over, I wanted a giant bear hug from my husband and a genuine, “Oh honey, can you ever forgive me for going away?”

When I greeted him at the door I got neither. He raced past me and peed for about 45 minutes, all the while screaming in agony, then collapsed on the floor. He gave the porcelain bowl more face time.

Understandably, I was annoyed. He could hug the toilet, why couldn’t he hug me?

Bickering ensued, quite unnecessarily. I wanted a hug; he wanted one, too, but neither of us would do it first (this is what happens when two stubborn, first born children marry and one is overtired and the other has medical issues).

After giving the incident more thought and thumbing through Dr. Gray’s book, I’ve come up with the “what should have happened” scenario. Rest assured, I’ve been completely unbiased and fair.

#1 HE
Charles should have lifted himself off the bathroom floor and hugged me, even if said hug was merely an excuse to lean on me for support and whimper on my shoulder. I mean come on, if a haggard woman says she wants a hug, for fuck’s sake hug her. Do not—I repeat do not— say, “If you want a hug, all you have to do is hug me first.” That’s akin to a Pizza Hut telling a hungry person, “If you want pizza all you have to do is get in your car and drive to the restaurant.” There’s a reason someone invented delivery men. You have what we want. Just give it to us.

#2 SHE
Charles should have lifted himself off the bathroom floor and hugged me, even if said hug was merely an excuse to lean on me for support and whimper on my shoulder. After that I should have retrieved the heating pad for his side instead of throwing it down the stairs.

See how easy it is?

I've had it with his damn organs!

There are certain themes in every marriage. For one couple it might be deceit and betrayal (I’m so optimistic); for another, steamy sex and excessive personal lubricant (see, that’s better).

For me and Charles, it’s passive aggressiveness and ulterior-motive-disguised-as-altruism (on his part; on mine it’s undying devotion and servitude).

Do you want proof? Because I have it. Documented right here on this very blog (if you could see me and my blog right now, we’re cozied up on the chair and I’m petting it, nice kitty).

Exhibit 1: The nicest nerve
The very day I healed from a pinched nerve, Charles trumped me with a kidney stone that laid him up on the couch for three days.

Ruling: This guy is so passive aggressive his body is in cahoots with his brain!

Exhibit 2: The other woman was a bonbon
Charles brought home a glitter covered bonbon (which I later learned was the brainchild of a stripper-hah!) in the guise of a present, when in actuality the bonbon was proof that he had not spent the night with his head between Misty’s frosted jugs.

Ruling: You can look a gift bonbon in the mouth.

Tonight’s exhibit brilliantly illustrate both themes. It's so tidy, in fact, that it illustrates a freakish cross pollination of themes.

You see, I nicely asked Charles to shorten his encampment stay. I was so very tired from tending to Junior’s gooey eye, projectile puke, and fever. I needed help. I needed my man to gallop on back to me. Which he did. But when Charles finally arrived home tonight he fell into the foyer, woad (um, Celtic war paint) covering his wan, pale face and told me he was…useless.

And so, I present:

Exhibit 1: Charles’ kidney stone, part deux

Right now, he’s lying on the couch doubled over in pain. I had envisioned his homecoming a little differently. Like, backrubs for me. Dinner for me. Instead I brought him soup and even went back into the kitchen for crackers! (I didn’t crumple them up—I’m not that nice.)

Ruling: This guy is so passive aggressive his body is in cahoots with his brain! He wants to rest and recover from his trip, not tend to a sick child and tired wife.

Ruling: You can look a gift homecoming in the mouth. He didn’t come home early just to help me out; he came home to the creature comforts of his house, to modern medicine, to painkillers.

If you’re booing at me, know this: I’m not heartless. I’ve heard kidney stone pain is akin to labor (oops, I just fell out of my chair laughing). Ehem, where was I? Ah yes, my poor husband needs TL right now, not BL (Blog Lambasting) but I can’t help but find this all very, very amusing.

His organs keeps trumping me. They’re sneaky little shits.

Sigh. Speaking of organs, my brain is starting to shut down due to lack of sleep.