“Oh, no! Oh, no! You’re Going to be Soooo Mad!”

“Oh, no!  Oh, no!  You’re going to be so mad!”

That’s all she kept saying, repeating it over, and over.  “You’re going to be so mad!”

My wife uttered these words to me, all while hiding behind a partially closed bathroom door.  She said it, with a smile draped across her face, and her skinny jeans pushed down across her ankles.

Not knowing what she was referring to, but fearing the worst, I merely handed her a tube of disinfectant wipes, thinking that whatever she spilled, tipped, or shattered all over the floor, Clorox wipes from Duane Reade would certainly solve it.  “No,” she mustered.  “It’s no that.”

Complete self-awareness and full-disclosure here:  I have a big-time case of OCD. Neatness, organization, and order are the tenants by which I live my life.  Phrases such as “Honey!  Please find a home for all your loose items!” are uttered with a recurring frequency in my apartment.  So, now staring dead into the face of an issue for which wipes weren’t the answer, I was equal parts baffled, and terrified.

“I peed on your shorts,” was what followed.

“What?  You did what!”

A brief look at the logistics of our apartment will have you realize that the bathroom – in it’s infinite spacial challenges – features an over-the-door hanging bar, upon which I drape wet clothing that isn’t dryer-safe.  George Costanza be damned, “shrinkage” is forever an issue.  And, having done the laundry yesterday afternoon, many of my gym clothes (all Nike Dri-Fit, naturally) were hanging precariously from the rack.

This, as they say, is where the plot thickens.

Apparently – and expert witness testimony still paints an unclear picture – my gray shorts fell from the hanging bar, into the toilet, unbeknownst to my lovely and loving wife. Never mind the fact that Erin is most-certainly guilty for knocking said shorts into the bidet, but one might also wonder how this would go unnoticed prior to peeing. Nonetheless, it wasn’t until mid-stream when Erin realized what had happened, causing her to utter the aforementioned fateful words:

“Oh, no!  Oh, no!  You’re going to be so mad!”

We bagged the shorts, as I was struck with emotions ranging from bewilderment to dismay.  Certainly, I was less-than-pleased.  But it can be hard to get mad at someone as cute as Erin.

She's Lucky She's Cute

She's Lucky She's Cute

Skinny jeans having now climbed back to her waist, my wife chased me around the apartment, offering hugs and apologies.

“Don’t hug me!  You just pee’d on my shorts!”

At this point, I remember attempting to hand Erin the laundry card, and bottle of “Tide with Febreeze, Spring Renewal.”  Right.  Because “Spring Renewal” must certainly cure urine saturation.

“I’m not doing the laundry now, but I will soon!” Erin responded.  Uh huh.

The shorts are in the washer as we speak.

And Erin is somehow already out of the dog house.

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7 Comments

  1. SOOOO FUNNY! so great imagining her panic at the site of your man shorts in the toilet and you trying not to flip your OCD-lid. And seriously joles- how did the shorts jump from the rack to the potty??

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