Tuesday, May 03, 2011

A Smelly Little Post About Being Married

Leaving the party on Sunday night, Andrew stopped to ask me if I wanted the shopping bag he'd brought his beers in. I was confused by the question (why the fuck would I want to chase down the bag?) and he was confused by my confusion. He's not sure of the (notional) etiquette I apply to the running of our little household. For all he knew, it might have been my absolute favourite of all our Tesco bags. He didn't want to upset me by leaving it behind."Is this what marriage is?" asked our hostess, laughing at us. "No," I said "marriage is when he stopped at the side of the road as we were walking over here to pull out all of my grey hairs." "Yeah" my sister piped up "he was grooming her like a monkey".

We ambled out the door, three chimps hooting for home. Once we'd rounded the corner, Andrew and I bumburped out bubbly little farts, relieved to be free of polite company. I never thought I'd ever fart in front of anyone ever (though obviously my sister does not count in this scenario). "Oh Pussycat!" Andrew says whenever I do, and he feigns embarrassment on my behalf before topping my efforts with as eye-watering a fart as he can muster. So's I'll feel better. That's what marriage is.

7 comments:

The Bad Ambassador said...

I agree. In fact I go so far as to say that marriage is all about being sufficiently chivalrous to "take one for the team".

I have in the past said "excuse me" when the CPF has let one rip in polite company!

Tim Footman said...

I composed a little poem about my other half's lavatorial habits. She was rather touched.

Rosie said...

you're an example to all men, BA.

"Small Boo" does rhyme wonderfully with "poo", Tim. she's a lucky lady.

Karen said...

Oh marriage is GREAT for things like that! You can fart, pick your nose, pick your spots, cut your toenails in the bath. Belch. And say things like 'will you look at this boil on my arse, what do you think it is? Is there pus?' and NOT be dumped!

I'm one month married tomorrow and I've done all of the above in the past month.

We had planned a three week honeymoon. One week in Prague, two weeks in a gorgeous holiday home in Wexford. At the end of the Prague bit I contracted chicken pox. So for the final two weeks of our honeymoon my new husband ended up slathereing me in calamine lotion and sleeping in the spare room, to allow me room in the bed to get comfortable and to avoid the pus, pox and lotion fest. Married bliss!

Rosie said...

sorry to hear that, Karen. it's as good an excuse as any for a second honeymoon in a few months time though.

Rosie said...

also, he can now legitimately refer to you as his poxy wife!

el said...

that is, in the weirdest, but normal way, the nicest thing ever!