Now that the shock and awe has worn off from yesterday's '25 things you may not know about me' I thought I would take the time to explain how I number twelve’d on my husband John’s foot.
Now before I get to the nitty gritty I want to give you a little insight on how it all came about. You see my husband and I got married after being in a relationship for over year however in that time we had only spent four months physically together. He had joined the Marine Corps so most of our time together was really spent apart. Hell, even after we got married we spent over a month apart so he could get things ready for us.
We didn’t have much in the beginning living as husband and wife. Fortunately enough the Marine Corps gave us a beautiful two story town home. All of our furnishing and belongings consisted of an air mattress a thirteen inch black and white television, a radio, two pillows, one quilt, two bicycles and our clothes.
After three months of sitting on an air mattress to watch television and sleep my husband came home with an awesome gift. He had scored us an actual couch, bed, end tables, and twenty-six inch color TV with a built in VCR (that’s the way people watched movies at home before DVD’s. Google it.) That night we decided to celebrate our rise in living condition by going out for Chinese food.
With our bellies full and our spirits high we came home to a better place. As I plopped down on my new found 70’s throw back floral print couch, my husband decides to lay down a ground rule. To inaugurate the furnishing properly he insisted we lay together on it watching television naked.
Now this wouldn’t bother most people but I was very self-conscious back then. When I first met John I was what I ought a cute seventy eight pounds thanks to my heavy drug use. Once he found out how I kept my girlish figure he threw down an ultimatum and out went my tiny physic. Within two months of being clean I had blown up to a whopping one hundred eighty five pounds. Needless to say my self-confidence had taken a few blows.
So the thought of actually laying there naked terrified me. After much persistence my husband won the ‘Nude or Not to Nude’ debate. But I had a trick up my sleeve. Pretending to be cold I grabbed our California King Size quilt and hid myself under it. After five minutes of cuddling with him I decided to lay on the other end of the couch with my feet near his torso. Annoyed with my lack of affection and short cuddle time, he slid his feet under my butt. “You either cuddle or keep my feet warm.” Are words he never thought he’d regret.
As we laid there watching Primal Fear for the fiftieth time in two months, I felt a gurgling in my tummy. Thinking it was only gas I held it back. I mean you couldn’t really expect me to poot in front of my husband. Yes I said poot. Women don’t fart, we poot. Men fart. Now mind you every time I have needed to release a little pressure I have always walked outside, gone to the bathroom or found some other room. But tonight I was naked. No way was I going to get up and let my husband see me naked.
Anyways, the gurgling started to become a little much. After deciding releasing just a tiny bubble would make a world of difference, I did. Now, when I did this I knew it didn’t feel right but I shrugged it off as just being uncomfortable in my situation. Then it happened!
Rising up from the couch as if he were Bela Lugosi in 1931’s Dracula, my husband stared at me with the true look of fear. Seconds that seemed to be eternity passed before he said the words that would forever haunt me.
“Did you just s*** on my foot?”
“No.” I replied sheepishly
“No! I think you just s*** on my foot!” He exclaimed as he threw the quilt off of us. As the quilt landed on the floor, I was suddenly hit with panic. I had indeed poo’ed on his foot. Fearing further humiliation, I bolted up the stairs clinching my butt cheeks together locking myself in the bathroom.
Being the great hubby he is he sat at the door first telling me it was okay then moved onto to joking about how he didn’t know I was into the sort of thing. Finally, after forty five minutes of crying I opened the door to a poopy footed husband who still loved me and saw past the grossness and saw the cuteness.
To this day he brings it up even though I’ve gone without an accident in eleven years. I’ve learned to laugh about it. Maybe you can to.