A Non-Typical Night

I sometimes compare marriage to the Middle East….A religious experience of sorts (otherwise known to my wife as “hell on earth”). In order for two such diverse cultures to coexist peacefully, there must be give and take from both sides. I pride myself on always doing as much as I possibly can to promote peace…. to understand the history and feelings and beliefs of others….to live and let live….to be open-minded.

And in order to fully appreciate this story you must understand the circumstances which brought me to today’s writing.

You see, the air density most nights in Mississippi is comparable to, and has the consistency of, wet cotton…it’s just damned humid is what it is. This tends to stir my allergies like a witch on methamphetamines would stir her brew. Therefore, as usual, I’m taking enough antihistamines to choke Godzilla… which makes me verrrrrrrrry thirsty… which makes me drink a lot of liquids…. which makes me prone to a late-night/early morning emptying of my 54 year-old bladder. Although it has survived a distinctly live-like-there’s-no-tomorrow, moderation-is-for-nuns, life-style (mostly in the ‘60s and 70s), it is still worn out in this new millennium just the same. To make matters worse, when you get to be my age the only time you DON’T have to pee is when you ARE peeing.

Last night started off normal enough. Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man…well, able to get to work the next morning. In the spirit of consideration to three women (ok, one of them is a Weimeraner, one is Yorkie, and the other is my , ummm, boss) with whom I share living space. Furthermore, because self-preservation is a very strong instinct of mine, I’ve developed a way to relieve this old, worn-out bladder without turning on lights, and making verrrrry little noise, so as not to disturb the peacefully sleeping bitc, ummm, girls.

Now, I’m sure that most females don’t know this(yeah right), but despite the aim and accuracy of Robin Hood, sometimes, just sometimes, and despite our very best effort…when emptying our “reservoir of fluids”, we men sometimes find a very small… really more like a teeny-weeny, almost miniscule amount of our….ummm….. stream going astray….COMPLETELY BEYOND OUR CONTROL mind you. I know, I know, how in the heck, you ask, can this happen? Well, it just can…and if you don’t have “one” then you’ll probably never understand….lol… of course, I, myself NEVER have this problem, ok? But just to be on the safe side and,,” in the interest of peace in the Middle East”…… instead of turning on a light…..I simply sit down.

Ok there, I said it….can we just get past that? As a blatant and proud heterosexual male who’s had his fair share of female “companions” with N-o-o-o-o complaints (at least not out loud and to my face) about my manliness, I contend that the whole sitting thing is nothing but an affirmation of my respect for women. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it…..

Anyway, the routine is always the same…I don’t think about it, it’s allll just subconscious movements; instinct if you will…..back up to the toilet so as not to miss and bust my ass, pull down muh “draws”, finish peeing, stand, reach back around to flush, pull up muh draws, go back to bed and blissful sleep.

We-l-l-l-l-l, last night things went a tad askew. Now, bear in mind that I’m 6’2” and north of 200 lbs. As I reached back around to flush, my feet slipped on the acrylic tile, (I probably looked like Fred Flinstone trying to start his bottomless car…bobbity,bobbity,bobbity,bobbity).
I tried my absolute best not to bust my butt, but I fell helplessly backwards while trying to find something, anything to hold onto. Aside from leaving Wolverine-class scratch marks on the wall, my shoulder went crashing into the tank part of the toilet like a 747 crashing smack-dab into the side of a mountain…(I think I may have even let out a short, high-pitched scream like a little girl)… Libby (our 6 year-old weimeraner) started barking like she’d been shot with salt pellets. Lulu, the Yorkie, hauled her little Ewok-looking ass under the bed….…..and all hell broke loose…

Not only had I split the tank like a frakking egg, I had managed somehow to begin the flushing process as well. So the half-full tank was spilling onto the floor, AND the plumbing supply inlet was trying to refill a tank that now lay split in half like I was Moses and it was the red sea… so, where once stood my comfortable and familiar throne, now in its place was an “Old Faithful” pretender… spewing more and more water into the air just as fast as Ridgeland’s water pressure could shove it skyward.

I scrambled to turn on the light wayyyy at the other side of the bathroom [so that I could locate the shut off valve], slipping and sliding and crashing into any and everything in my way. My 6 year-old, 70-lb. weimeraner, who barks, literally at anything that moves or makes a sound, was barking at the top of her very powerful lungs sounding every bit like the entire pack of the Hounds of the frakking Baskerville, and I was screaming at her to “shut the F#%@K UP!!! Hot-dammit, LIBBY!!!!”

Now, it was at this precise moment in time that my still comatose wife turned over in bed and mumbled something along the lines of: “huh? ummmm, need any help, hun?”

Now, deep in my heart, I know she meant well and was half asleep in her Ambien-induced bliss of la-la-land, (where she was probably married to the real Wolverine-Hugh Jackman) but I swear, if I had been in possession of one of those R.P.G.s or I.E.Ds or W.M.D.s, like they were SUPPOSED to have in I-FRAKKING-RAQ, she would’ve been D.O.A. and I’d be S.O.L.; undoubtedly on my way to prison right about now, wondering how the hell I was going to survive the rest of my life without bending over to pick up the soap in one of those communal prison showers.

Instead, I said something along the lines of…. “ DEAR!….IT’S FRAKKing 9/11 IN HERE HOT-DAMMIT”, as I slipped and fell for the 12th time in what was rapidly becoming a chlorinated pond in my bathroom…….


Finally, after using every dry towel, t-shirt, bath mat, spare sheet, spare bed spread, paper napkin and paper towel, (and I think maybe even Lulu) in the house…. and after changing into some dry draws…….and after finally lying back down craving just a little sub-conscious bliss……………my alarm went off.

So-o-o-o-o, no rest for the weary….. thankfully no prison, no police, no handcuffs, no finger-printing, no Nick Nolte mug-shots, and no whispering neighbors saying “he was always such a nice, quiet man…what would make him kill his poor wife and dogs?”…or “they say he must’ve thrown one of them into his toilet too because his toilet was cracked to hell and back! Who in the world does something like that???”

Nope, none of that……but dad-gummit my shoulder hurts.


  1 comment for “A Non-Typical Night

  1. wayne
    November 3, 2011 at 6:46 pm


Comments are closed.