The other day I received a phone call as I was packing up to come home from the office.
It was my lovely wife Darlene, and she had a list of things for me to pick up for her at the grocery store.
One of the items was a bottle of non-acetone nail polish remover.
Now, after ten years of holy matrimony, I am immune to embarrassment when picking up wifely products at the store.
But sometimes I do have go back a second time correct the mistakes I made the first time.
In the store, I found the non-acetone nail polish remover all by myself. I was proud of that. But I had no idea which one my lovely wife required – the kind that comes in a bottle and you pour out – or the kind that comes in a little jar with some type of sponge inside so you dip your nails in.
Since I had seen – and smelled – her dipping her finger in just such a jar – I figured that must be the one. So I picked up the jar and added it to my collection of other wifely products – and continued on my appointed rounds.
At the house, I put the bag down on the table, and proceeded to make a drink. My lovely wife poured through the bag, mentally grading my accuracy in obeying her shopping directions.
“Oh, you got the jar of nail polish remover, not the bottle? I asked you for the bottle, I already have a jar.”
I pointed at the jar “its non-acetone, just like you asked for”, and I showed her my list. “If you already have the jar, then why did I have to buy more?” I asked,
That stuff costs four bucks you know.
“My jar is empty, I wanted a bottle to pour in the jar”, Darlene replied.
“Well, I saved you a step”.
“You never listen when I tell you things?” replied my lovely wife. As true as it was, I didn’t need to hear it again.
“Well, listen my dear”, I said, thinking quick on my feet and stirring my vodka and lemonade. "For ten years now you have been buying me the wrong boxer shorts. But do I complain? Not a word. I say thank you because I appreciate you doing that for me”.
“The wrong boxers, what the hell are you talking about?” her eyes opened wide and her head slightly tilted – looking at me.
“Well, I am right handed, right?”
“Yes, of course you are .,. but what’s that …”
“Well you keep buying me left handed boxer shorts!” I said – in my best straight faced look of being hard done by.
“Left handed boxer shorts … what are you talking about?”
“You always get the ones on sale … don’t you … or in some special bin of some sort, right?”
“Well, yes” replied my puzzled wife, “But how can boxer shorts be left handed?”
“Darlene, please … think about how they are constructed …”
“Huh? What the …”
“The flap … the flap on the front … you know … how the materials lays over top of each other”
"Well, it overlaps one way for right handed people and the other way for left people. You know … as you … well ,,, gain access …”, I continued.
“C’mon … really?”
“Imagine if you … really have to go …. and every second counts …. you know what I mean?”, I pointed out as I pantomimed my imaginary predicament.
“Get out … oh my God … I never knew that!” she gasped.
“Darlene, you’re an Emergency Room Nurse”, I continued even further – still straight faced – taking a sip at the points where my face might give my farce away. “Didn’t you ever have to assist a patient … like with a bedpan?”.
“No, I was an emergency room nurse, I just cut the damned things off!”, she answered. “How do you tell?”
“There’s an L or an R on the package for God’s sake!”.
My lovely wife spun in her chair to her laptop – “I have to ask everybody on Facebook about this!” – and she reached for the keyboard.
Now, there is nothing that would have made my prank more rewarding that to actually have seen her post go out on Facebook. Something like “Did you all know that boxer shorts are made for left handers and right handers?”
I would have pressed the “Like” link on that status update. But instead – I intervened and asked …
“Are you sure you want everyone to know you didn’t know that?”
I felt my face slipping into a laugh – so I put my drink up to my mouth for a big swig – but I couldn’t hold it – and I did a spit-take like the comedians on TV – all over the kitchen sink.
“Oh, you’re so full of …”, and my lovely wife said a bad word.
I was almost on the floor laughing at this point, my lovely wife looking at me in disbelief that she fell for such nonsense.
“We will never speak of this again”, I promised as I wiped the lemonade out of my mustache and beard.
“Oh, I am sure this will turn into a headstuffing story”, replied my lovely wife Darlene.
“I would never do such a thing”, I replied.
I was wrong. I would.
But in the end, my prank really got me nowhere.
I’ll likely be back in the store buying mini-pads before the week end. And during that endeavor, I am certain to ask the following:
“Does she want the ones with wings or without wings?”