Okay…I promised you guys another embarrassing story. This one, mind you, was actually published by Redbook Magazine. Yeah, I’m so good at putting my foot in my mouth and finding myself in those awkward situations that the big magazines help humiliate me.
Anyway . . . on to the story—after the birth of my son, and especially after the embarrassing pop-my-water in the drive-thru while Burger King employees watched, I had decided my birthing days were way past over. Now, unlike some people, I really did know what caused the birthing condition.
Don’t get me wrong, I still wanted to practice making babies, but it was the pills and gadgets where gadgets didn’t belong that I minded. So, I sat my husband down for what I had expected to be a very long talk. But nope, when I casually slipped in the word vasectomy, he casually remembered that the oil in my car needed changing. Changed, right then, like it might blow up if the dirty oil stayed in that engine one more minute.
When I approached him after the oil job was done, he suddenly remembered the backyard fence needed painting. And God forbid someone see it was peeling. The next couple of days, he retouched up all the in trim in the living room, stopped a toilet from needing a constant jiggle, and re-bleached the grout in my kitchen. That’s when; I pretty much realized he was doing chores just to get out of our discussion. So, I did what most women would do in that kind of situation.
I took full advantage of it until I had every household chore I needed completed.
However, when he had started working on getting better television reception, which I knew had nothing to do with our wiring, and everything to do with our neighbor’s interest in CB radioing and his sky-high antenna, I put an end to my husband’s charade.
I cornered the man. Fully armed with ammunition, I let him have it. I gave him all the info about how it was just a tiny little snip for men, and I would have to have a major surgery. Hey, I could die. I threw in about how I’d already suffered through the pain and agony of giving him a son to carry on the Craig legacy. When reason, guilt, and family legacy didn’t flip him, I pulled out my big guns, sent him my sexy smile, and tossed in the fact that we could have much more spontaneous sex. Face it, we all know how men love spontaneous sex. (Basically, they think it means they get out of foreplay.)
I tell you, I never dreamed that spontaneous sex would lose out to a little snip-snip. Even if it did involve what he referred to as, “The Boys.”
But not to be deterred, I did what I had to do. I attacked his male ego. Did he know that our neighbor, the CB loving guy, who messed up all our phones, all our electronic equipment, including our television, was man enough and loved his wife enough to sign up for a vasectomy?
After my hubby spoke to my neighbor, he came back in, ego hanging around his knees, and relented. So, the next day, I signed him and his Boys up for a snip-snip appointment for the following month.
A couple weeks later, we were grilling burgers. As I cut the corner in our backyard, I hear my husband and the neighbor talking. I spot the neighbor, 50 feet in the air, putting up a new, larger antenna, sure to destroy reception for any electrical equipment I have in my house, especially in my bedroom because it backed up to the giant antenna.
“It works,” my neighbor called down to my husband.
Never one to keep my two cents to myself, I added, “For goodness sakes, it should work, it’s big enough. If it gets any bigger, I’m afraid it’s going to end up in my bedroom.”
The neighbor nearly fell off his pole. My husband burst out laughing.
When my husband finished his laughing jag, he explained, “We weren’t talking about his antenna, Christie. We were discussing his recovery from his . . . vasectomy.”
I promptly took myself and my two cents back inside.
So there you have it. My foot in my mouth vasectomy story. Now it’s your turn. And don’t you guys be shy. We've told you guys our dirty little secrets. And come November 1st, we’ll be picking another lucky person who posts on our site. So come on … let us hear from you.
Crime Scene Christie
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Posted by Christie Craig at 5:54 AM