A Story From the Archive

OK, OK, so I've been told my blog posts are a little intense lately. To be honest, I can't help the girl crush I have on Katrina Pierson.  She epitomizes everything I want to be when I grow up.

Since I have been so serious and foreboding, I thought it might be time to lighten things up a bit.  The excerpt below comes from my personal blog where I share observations and stories about my home life.

This is one of those stories the hubs would rather like to die than have me repeat. These stories are very real and are all part of those little things that make a young couple even stronger......or make a young couple wind up in a murder suicide investigation.

Pharmaceuticals and Shaving Don't Mix

My husband was so happy the day he came home with his new razor many moons ago.  He was happy too because it lent itself to our cheaper side.  I may be thrifty, but the hubs just downright makes Fred Mertz look like Michael Jackson in his later gluttonous years.  We stared at it in awe; this contraption that would ultimately save us a ton of money by cutting down on the three week buzz.  Well one would like to think that, anyway.

It was a thing of beauty, that razor.  After admiring it, he handed me the razor and asked me to shave his head. You would like to think it was such a simple thing, pretty much a straight shot right on over the head.   I had watched the barber do it a hundred times; just how hard could it be?  Well let me tell you about hard.  The last thing you want someone to hear when you are placing a vibrating metal slicer and dicer next  to their temple is the word ‘oops’.   It seems I forgot to put the clip on; the one that makes it so you don’t shave yourself absolutely senseless.  Holy bat crap, he now had a bald spot the size of a pencil eraser on his head.  His eyes grew round.  Was that a look of terror or was it a pondering of murder by 13 awful methods, each more painful than the last?  I didn’t wait to find out.

“Don’t worry about that.” I muttered.  I just knew we could mask it with a little makeup. After all, his stubbles were pretty short to begin with.

Perhaps I was a little overzealous in my judgment of repairing such a thing, because my husband came home from work the next day only to repeat his boss’ words as he was about to leave for home at the end of the day, “Oh by the way, the eye-liner really doesn’t cover it up.”  TXun 1/ Spouse 0
 
My husband, the orally tidy one, insists on rinsing with peroxide after every brush and floss session.  I can only make assumptions as to how this came about, but I'll be nice and suggest his dentist thought it was a good idea. I suppose he got the brilliant idea watching a Plax commercial one day but he decided to add a Plax step to this nightly ritual. In my best New York accent possible, "Yea, yea, sure, sure, what’s the big deal?"  Big?  Let me tell you about, big.  Ginormous would have been a gross understatement. 

My husband started his new plan one evening and was impressed with that oh so tingly feeling he got chasing a gargle of peroxide with a rinse of Plax.  I don’t know what chemical combination this compound produced, but the end result was nearly catastrophic. What happened next left me with night terrors for weeks. 

The 6 AM alarm sounded and after I turned it off, I looked over at my other half and told him it was time to wake up.  I mildly stifled a scream as he stirred and peered over the covers.  There on his face was the largest set of lips known to man-kind.  I mean I could have submitted photos to the Guinness Book of World Records and I’m certain he would have held the record to this very day.  Whatever that peroxide/Plax tincture ended as, it caused one of the harshest allergic reactions I’ve ever seen. 

I asked him if he really planned to take those things out into public with him.  OK, so it was a rhetorical question.  My husband just looked at me and continued to get ready to go to work.  Damn, what a trooper.

On his way in to the office, he stopped at the local Doc-in-a-Box.  When he entered, the woman behind the desk couldn’t resist pointing out, “Let me guess why you are here.”  Ah, a girl after my own heart. 

Two shots of Benadryl later, he headed into work and faced the stares and whispering.  His lips shrank back to normal about mid-morning.  Poor guy, I don’t know why these things happen to him.  I think some people are simply preordained for life’s trauma.  TXun 2/ Spouse 0