Published on December 31st, 2014 | by Richard Black0
How to Avoid Your Child’s Bodily Fluids and Accidently Poison Your Wife
As an ostensible adult and a parent I’ve been pretty lucky. I’ve still got most of my hair, I’m not legally blind, my wife hasn’t left me for a woman and I’ve got a surprisingly resilient liver. My daughter also hasn’t shit herself silly in the tub or the car or anyplace other than a diaper or a toilet. Now that I think about it, I should probably rank that higher on the list of things I should be thankful for.
Instead Darcy reserves those special moments for her mother. Darcy loves Laura and wants to be as close to her as possible. Sometimes I think my daughter loves my wife so much that she wants to crawl back up in her vagina but that sounds a little creepy as well as physically untenable. Darcy loves Laura and Laura loves Darcy and the two of them like to stay, perhaps need to stay, as close to each other as possible which is why on one average Tuesday a few months ago Laura was sitting on the toilet and Darcy was on her lap.
I was in the next room just a few feet away when I heard Laura say “Richard I need you in here right now,” in a very calm and measured tone that I found incredibly unnerving. It’s the tone of voice my wife usually reserves for those special times when I’ve royally screwed something up and it’s taking every ounce of her self control to keep her voice under a few hundred decibels.
Somehow, most likely due to my ability to foresee the worst possible scenario for anyone in any situation, I knew precisely what had happened. I knew with absolute certainty that Darcy had crapped wife. I’d be lying if I didn’t have to stifle a very childish impulse to giggle, and not just a slight impulse but the kind of giggle that becomes exponentially louder the harder it’s stifled no matter how inappropriate the situation might be. I’ve been plagued with this sort of thing my entire life and it’s caused me no end of trouble. I’ve been paddled in school for giggling at my second grade teacher when her rear end exploded in a truly epic display of flatulence. I’ve almost giggled myself into an excommunication when I noticed the priest sitting next to the altar boys was sporting a tent.
The giggle and I have issues and I knew at that moment that if I let it have it’s way that I’d end up lonely and destitute at best and the victim of a multiple stabbing at worst. It wasn’t easy. I think I may have even ruptured something but in my defense Darcy really couldn’t have picked a worse person to befoul. Sure she could have crapped on Kim Jong Un or the Pope but let’s be realistic. I haven’t seen any of those guys since college.
Laura dislikes bodily fluids and bodies in general now that I think about it. I’m not saying that most people revel in the thought of being spit/puked/urinated or shat upon but my wife takes things to an eleven. I’d have more luck getting a Hindu to eat a ribeye steak than Laura to drink out of a glass of water of which I’d thoughtlessly taken a sip. It’s not just me at least that’s what I tell myself. Fortunately her friends tell me the same thing. When she was a teen and someone grabbed a fry off her plate Laura would simply stop eating. Now I grant you that school age children are riddled with disease and Laura probably saved herself from dysentery but it’s a little harder to take when I’m the one who’s grabbing the french fries. We have a child together after all and there’s a lot of gross shit that has to happen to make a kid. I also really like french fries.
“Richard…” I heard Laura say again as her voice wavered slightly and brought me back to the issue at hand. I had just a few precious seconds to consider my response and gave some serious thought to faking a stroke. I’d even picked out a padded corner of the bed to slam my temple against. Prudence, fortunately stepped in and by Prudence I really mean prudence with a lower case “p” because we don’t have a maid named Prudence even though I’ve never hoped more fervently for one. Her name didn’t even have to be Prudence.
I stepped into the bathroom much in the way I imagine emergency techs stoically walk onto the factory floor of some horrible industrial accident to find my wife covered from the waist down in my daughter’s diarrhea. I quickly removed Darcy from Laura’s lap, placed her in the tub and then began the process of sterilizing our entire house, my daughter and my wife with bleach. Twice.
In the spirit of thoroughness I also burned my daughter’s soiled clothes, my wife’s soiled clothes, called the fire department when the clothes I was burning caught the backyard on fire and a few minutes later explained to the police why I was burning a four year old’s clothes in my backyard as well as a fashionable pant suit from Nordstrom.
“Yeah I get that all the time,” I hoped one would say.
None of them did. Frankly they looked a little pissed off that they didn’t find a body in the yard but I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell them about that given their attitude. Unbeknownst to them they’d soon be back.
Despite the thorough bleaching and the now toxic level of chlorine in our home Laura was still a bit edgy about “contaminants” and I took it upon myself to install the most effective furnace filter I could find in the basement. I even told her the filter was rated to remove all different kinds of molecular shit from the air, chlorine gas, fecal remnants, even the souls of Native Americans who may or may not be buried beneath our home.
She didn’t buy it and I was forced to move on to Plan B which involved force feeding my wife a box of wine into which I’d dissolved a Quaalude. Plan B was, on one level, a remarkable success in that it eased my wife’s concerns immediately. Unfortunately it had the unintended side effect of halting Laura’s ability to breathe which necessitated another call to 911 and a much more thorough and enthusiastic visit from the police.
Now that I’ve returned home after a brief but really quite restful visit to the local correctional facility I’ve tried to put a positive spin on the situation. After all there aren’t many husbands out there willing to risk accidentally poisoning their spouse for the sake of her, or his, mental well being. Laura disagrees of course but I know in my heart that my actions were largely selfless. I’m comfortable with what I’ve done if only for the fact that if my wife decides to leave me I can sue for palimony on the grounds that she’s a pill popping wino.