February 10, 2011

This post is not about my bowels.

Today, I found myself in need of a plunger. Suffice it to say that the toilet

Actually, no, nevermind. Suffice it to say that I needed a plunger. I don't have to say anything about why. I will say, though, that it's not because anyone clogged our toilet. That definitely never happened. In fact, I didn't even need it for the toilet. I just needed a plunger. For something completely unrelated. It had nothing to do with a clogged toilet. At all. So stop thinking that it did.

So anyway.

As Isaac had left with the car and wouldn't be back until right before I had to leave for work, and the toilet--I mean NOT the toilet, I mean, a project unrelated to clogged toilets that necessitated a plunger and

Whatever.

Since that project couldn't wait, I decided to walk over to Winner's Village Market to see what kinds of overpriced plungers they had in stock.

They had exactly one. One very cartoonish but not remarkably overpriced toilet plunger. I mean plunger. Just plunger.

I grabbed it enthusiastically and started to walk toward the cash register, but I ducked back into the aisle when I realized how suspicious I looked buying a plunger and nothing else. I didn't want the cashier to think that I came all the way to this crappy convenience store just for that; I didn't want to seem like the kind of person that needs to go on emergency plunger runs. So I grabbed a few other things to cushion its presence. I wanted this to seem like a casual purchase: "Yeah, I really came for this other stuff, but then I saw this plunger, and I was like, 'hey, why not? Never know when you'll need one!' 'Cause I actually don't need one right now. Like, not even a little bit. I couldn't possibly need this plunger less than I do right now. Seriously."

I took my three items up to the cash register and nonchalantly set them down on the counter. I adopted a posture of unmitigated detachment. "Oh, what's that? I'm buying a plunger? Oh, I didn't realize that. Well, ring it up anyway." I was ridiculously cool.

I watched the cashier's hands as he scanned each item.


 OH. NO.

I looked much worse than a person on an emergency plunger run. I looked like the kind of person who habitually

You know what, nevermind. Suffice it to say that I looked like an idiot and it sucked.

I quietly swiped my card, avoiding eye contact as I mumbled "debit." I slunk out of the store, trying very hard to be as cool as I had been before and failing miserably. The plunger didn't even fit in the shopping bag. I had to suffer the indignity of carrying it in my hand all the way back to the apartment. I'm pretty sure that everyone in the whole world drove past me during that four-minute walk.

Now I'm kicking myself for not buying a plunger that one time that I was thinking about buying a plunger. Plunger shopping is really not the kind of thing you want to do out of necessity. I mean, by the time you really need a plunger, your ego is already too bruised and delicate to actually suffer through the process of buying one.

February 3, 2011

Neuroses Illustrated: Swimsuit Edition, Kind of, Maybe

Ever since I published that post about dealing with stress, the number of pants-less incidents involving my husband has been steadily increasing. It seems that by confronting the offense with MS Paint illustrations, I've only challenged him to take his pants off in more and more inappropriate contexts. So this is all my fault, really. It's kind of like how there were no super-villains in Gotham before Batman started fighting crime. Now I'm fighting crimes that I indirectly created. I'm sorry, world.

He used to limit his pants-lessness to the privacy of our apartment, but he's starting to branch out. Like that one time at Mel's house, when he pulled his pants down and raced around the living room on a broomstick after he finished submitting his students' final grades.


Or that time at his parents' house when I gave him a pair of long underwear as an early Christmas present, and he was so excited that he, without pause, stood up and changed into them in front of Michael.


Or that other time at his parents' house on Christmas Eve when he took he pants off just to see if anyone would notice.


Now that we're back at school, he doesn't have as many opportunities to pull his pants down in front of other people. He's compensating by mooning me every chance he gets.


And occasionally putting on a pair of my underwear and walking into the kitchen to show off.



You may have noticed that Isaac isn't wearing underwear in any of these pictures.

No wait... He is wearing underwear, I just mean, you know, it isn't visible. Like, he's wearing pants on top of his underwear.

I was going to include pictures of him without pants on, but I thought better of it and censored them out. I did this for two reasons. One, I think the internet has had enough of Isaac's underwear. And two, I don't want to start the no-pants cycle over again. More pants-less pictures will only encourage more pants-less incidents, so I've replaced the underwear pictures with pictures of behaviors that I want to encourage, like doing the dishes, writing studiously with pants on, saying sexy things in French, accidentally losing a game of Go for once, and making me balloon animals. For instance.





(I want a giraffe. Poodles are for weenies.)