Ashamed Is Thy Middle Name
When I first met my husband, I couldn’t believe that he didn’t find me hilarious. He hardly ever laughed at me. This went on for so long that I eventually compared the nature of our relationship to Mr. Wilson and Dennis The Menace.
It was then when he explained what a “straight man” was (and no, sadly I am not referring to sexuality) and then I got it. He was and will always be my straight man. He may never laugh out loud unless I catch him off guard, but this doesn’t necessarily mean that he isn’t laughing on the inside (which, if you ask me is better than crying on the inside).
So, because I am a highly mature adult, I try to spend most of our time spent in public embarrassing him. I spent much of the last part of my pregnancy waddling after him in stores loudly requesting that he get me my nipple cream and hemorrhoid pillows.
He wasn’t even remotely fazed.
I consider every instance that I make him blush a personal (major) victory, so I take most opportunities as they are presented. A simple jaunt through the pharmacy can turn into me loudly shrieking after him to “fill that Viagra prescription so we can get our hump on!” or “Honey, don’t you need some more ADULT DIAPERS? We’re almost out!”
(I do the same thing to my mother, minus, of course, the Viagra comment as she doesn’t have a penis. I think. The results are the same. Loudly rolling their eyes into the back of their head at my teenage-esque antics.)
You might think that this might elicit as much or more shame to me than it does to either of them, but you’d be horribly wrong. I put myself in the other patron’s shoes: who WOULDN’T secretly smirk when overhearing this? There’s a reason that Overheard in the Office is a great website: people like to hear this sort of crap.
Today, for the first time since I referred to my delicate girl parts as “a split wet beaver,” I finally achieved ultimate embarrassment: I made my husband blush (and likely nearly divorce me).
We’d just dropped off a prescription at Yee Old Target Pharmacy when somewhere in the back of the dusty recesses of my memory, I recalled that we needed to, *ahem,* restock on the lube (damn you, lactation!). I gleefully informed my husband of this at top volume from several aisles away.
Rather than turn the other way and pretend not to be That Crazy Woman’s Poor Husband, he trudged down the lube aisle with me to peruse our choices. Once decided, we turned around and headed back to the grocery aisle to continue our shopping expedition.
It was only then when I turned the shamefulness up a couple of notches, when I handed the baby the bottle for him to hold onto (he loves to examine our purchases).
Poor The Daver turned about 57 shades of red and sputtered none too delicately “NO!” as he took the offending bottle of goo away from him.
“No,” he continued his voice jumping several octaves higher, “I will NOT have the baby gumming a bottle of KY throughout Target, Becky. I am putting my foot DOWN.”
I’m smart enough to know when I’ve successfully pushed the envelope to the breaking point, so I conceded and handed Alex a much more PC package of Medicated Chapstick.
As I walked away, I comforted myself by knowing that after several long years of trying, I’ve finally painfully embarrassed my husband once again.
Nice dude. Very nice!
Mission Accomplished! 🙂
What a good sport!
Great story! I do the same thing to my family members.
E is a broken man for the same reason. He drops me at the curb and I call him when I’m through shopping. Score, Aunt Beck!
Funny, yes, but also a public service announcement. I hadn’t realized lactation might be a cause of, um, the need for embarrassing moistness aids. So, um, thanks. From Wes, in particular.
(Never repeat this. He will never find this comment. You are all sworn to secrecy.)
heh heh
My husband is just as hard to embarrass… I suspect this one might have gotten him, too.
Hahahah. Oh that poor man! 🙂
That’s fantastic.
My husband and I have much the same dynamic (although I think you are probably better at it than I am), and the important thing is for me to recognize when I have pushed the envelope too far.
HA! That is specfuckintacular!
That makes me think of taunting Greg about butt sex. *snicker* The mere whisper of butt sex turns him about a billionty shades of red. When this was discovered, me and my friend Becky (who was living with me at the time), would just randomly strike up conversations about butt sex, one debating about the proper use of lube and which brands were better for the job. I’m surprised he stayed with me.
BG is obsessed with my birth control pill package–bright pink, lots of little bumps and dots, what’s not to love? Strangely, though, my husband gets very upset at the sight of his little girl toddling around with a Pill pack clutched in her chubby little fist. Gosh, why?
You and I shall be great friends! =) Letting your kid play with Lube?? Awesome. I used to let my son (now 7) play with pads and tampons while I took a shower. My husband was mortified.
Husband doesn’t think I’m very funny, either, but luckily our friend Ed has about the same sense of humor as I do, and likes to be embarrassing in stores too. Once I was grocery shopping and didn’t see him, and he came and crashed his cart into mine, and said, “GEEZ, lady, watch where you’re going!” and I said, “Watch it mister, I’ll KICK YOUR ASS!” Everyone was staring, mission accomplished. Another time, we were at the liquor store (we had to leave the campground to go get liquor) and he said, “So, ma’am, if I buy this, what do I get? What’s included?” and I said, “Anything you want, mister…I’ll blow your doors off.” The young guy next to us had his mouth hanging open when we left.
M. once freaked in the Walmart when he saw that I had written down “sex wipes” instead of just wipes. lol I’m betting Daver was scared of catching the need for Viagra. Guys can be so weird.
When my husband graduated Basic Army Training, we went to the PX (which is basically a food court and a department store) and I told him we needed condoms. He suddenly got all fidgety and shifty eyed and told me he would be waiting by the exit. He ran off so I could pay for it. Ah, men.