Or how about neither?
Some nights before I go to bed, I think, “Holy chicken turds. What on earth am I going to blog about tomorrow?” Then I do something incredibly stupid
and potentially dangerous and instead of the first thing that I yell being, “OUCH” or “Call 911” or “I’m dying!”….nope – my very FIRST thought is:
YES – I can totally blog about this!
So here we go. I can’t make this shit up if I tried.
Last night I took a bath. I shined and shaved myself up all pretty like. I got out of the bath. Right before I could do my ritual of inspecting my work and lathering up every part of me with lotion, Rambo came in and said he needed help with something in the kitchen.
I go out to the kitchen naked.
He’s standing there naked.
He's trying to rub ICY HOT on his lower back until I take over because he hurt his back in the semi today.
And yes – we’re naked a lot. It’s very free-ing. You should try it.
And yes – our kids were in bed so Rambo’s parts weren’t just dangling about in front of them.
Tis just for muwah.
Anyway – I rub the ICY HOT into his back. I walk away smelling like an 80 year old man’s knee joint. That lovely pepperminty I’m old as hell medicinal smell that we all love.
I go back into the bathroom to finish my inspecting and lathering up routine. I look down at my shaving job in the nether regions and I’m pissed. I missed a freaking spot. So naturally I check it out further and make sure I didn’t miss more.
AND HOLY SHIT A BRICK PEOPLE.
I still have ICY HOT on my mother-f*cking hands!!!
My vagina starts to tingle like it’s freezing. Then it burns.
You know? ICY HOT!
What have I done?
Then I stand there with my legs crossed holding my hoohaa like when a little kid says they have to go pee bad. That’s how I’m standing when Rambo walks in.
I say, “I think I ruined my vagina.”
He just looks…um..horrified. And confused.
I explain that I just ICEY-HOT-ted my vagina.
He of course, being the super smart man that he is says, “You’re supposed to wash your hands after you use ICY HOT! Wipe it off - quick.” I think he was getting a little scared at this point.
I yelled, “I tried that. It’s in my skin you heifer. OMG – what if I burned or froze off my vagina? I will die of embarrassment if I have to go to a doctor for this.”
He says, “Calm down. You’ll be fine.”
"Easy for you to say. Your penis isn’t on fire."
He’d have been loaded in an ambulance already had it been him.
I’ve now become the person that the manufacturer has to write stupid ass warning labels for. You know the ones on hot coffee that say, “Coffee is hot. Do not pour onto your leg and then attempt to sue us.”
Or “do not dip the hair dryer in bath water prior to using or YOU’LL EXPLODE you dumb ass.”
Or “do not stick a knife into the toaster to get your poptart out or you will be ELECTRICUTED you moron.”
Yah – those warnings that other people think are stupid – are for people like me.
Like the one on the ICY HOT package that says, “Do not put this on your genitals. It won’t feel good. In fact, your genitals will shrivel up and fall off. Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
I went to bed holding my vagizzle. I told Rambo there was no way we were having sex because if any kind of friction touched me there I was sure the whole thing would explode into giant flames and there was no way I was explaining that to the 911 operator that I probably went to high school with.
My vagina stopped burning after a while.
Now it just smells like a 90 year old woman in a wheelchair.
At least it didn’t fall off.
Oh and Rambo’s back? Totally feels better.
Sue me if I could care less.