I married a plumber. I love him *let me just throw that out there before I start* but... when you marry a plumber there are certain expectations that have to be forsaken. For example: I can't always expect that he will be home to eat the dinner I slaved over for 2 hours or that he won't have to leave in the middle of the night to go on a call. I can only pray that I won't find one of his cruddy work shirts tossed on top of a pile of my clean unmentionables. I accepted defeat when we discovered his work van couldn't fit into our new garage and would have to live in the driveway at night. And I am almost used to finding customers phone numbers on every piece of paper laying around our house - birthday cards, bills, memorabilia, ANYTHING. But, then, there is that one. That notoriously obnoxious quality that aggravates me to a point of endearment (strange, I know). The foundation of what people anticipate when a plumber is called into their home or place of business.
The plumber's crack!
And boy does he have one. This thing gets SEEN. Case in point, the Boone Hall Plantation Pumpkin Patch circa Halloween '09 - John bends down to put his shoes back on after going on the bounce mound. I guess that's what you call it - it bounces and its a mound so I think "bounce mound" sounds perfect. Anyway, I hear the couple beside me snickering so I look down. John is showing full-on crack right there in the middle of hundreds of innocent bystanders. I swear I wouldn't have been surprised if kids started running and screaming. I'm just glad Sully was too young to understand.... I can only shrug it off as a walking satire.
Anywho, he calls me on my cell this weekend (I was out of town) to tell me that he's been bitten by a spider on, wait for it......... wait for it.......... the top of his crack. bahahahahaha. I know. I'm a bad wife. But I could hardly control my hysterical outburst. "Serves you right for always letting your crack hang out," I said. I began to wonder if this unsuspecting spider was laying somewhere gagging and dying at that very moment.
But I pulled myself together and tabled my laughter when I got home the next day to find half of his lower back inflamed and burning hot. After two full days of begging him to go to the doctor and a few blisters on the inflamed spot (I know, gross) he finally went.
Him: Babe! I just don't have time today. My work schedule is packed.
Me: Great. When you're dead on Friday, I'll be sure to go by your office and get your check.
I'm so warm and fuzzy sometimes. It's a gift I can't control. But, it turns out my "fuzziness" paid off because his bite ended up being the workings of a brown recluse and had he waited much longer there's no telling what would have happened. Scary! They gave him a shot of steroids to which I jokingly begged for him not to beat me up if I burned dinner that night. So now he's left with 2 antibiotics, a nasty red patch on his back (and crack, let's not forget), and his "war stories" of getting the steroid shot. I have to remind him that it wasn't that long ago I was giving birth to our child and enjoying the bliss of epidurals and blood oxygen tests (which, ps, is some of the most disgusting needle pain i've ever felt). Warm and Fuzzy!
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