Saturday, December 3, 2011

Strange Days

My husband has crazy stories to tell about his real life away from this house.  You see, even though he comes home nearly every night to his family, the man has a job and friends and peers – a whole other life – away from this place.  It’s weird, right?  He works in another town and has all these other experiences that I may never know about.  He could be Don Draper, with a total double life, and no one knows he’s married or even has a family, I don’t know.  Whatever.

Because I am busy with all this Christmas nonsense that descended on me like a black cloud lately, and hating in general, we haven’t been able to catch up on things like normal.  For example, on a usual evening, he tells me about all the zillion-dollar decisions he makes during the day, and I tell him how many seconds I shaved off my personal record for toilet scrubbing.  It’s amazing.  This week, we haven’t done this because there’s other stuff going on.  Like my hating.

So tonight, I was quiet, and he was fairly busting with stories to tell.  He said they were Seinfeld-esque.  Well, maybe not quite that good, but I admit, some are horrifying.  The ones that are most horrifying involve the gym.  OF COURSE.  Here’s one.  Enjoy.

So, after my workout, I was in the steam room.  You know how weird stuff always happens in the steam room?  It does.  A lot. 

I’m in there, minding my own business being quiet and sweating, and this big guy is in there.  Now, this room is not very big.  There’s only about enough room for maybe six people to sit comfortably.  So, this guy is standing in there, shirtless, making all kinds of noises, and like, doing sit-ups against the wall, and then stretching out his huge gut.  He’s grunting like “UNNNHHHHHH!” and moaning like “OOOOHHHHHHHHH!” like he’s giving birth or something.  He’s really making a scene, rubbing his head and moaning and stretching out his gut and pushing against the wall with his hands and grunting and thrusting his hips forward and I’m sitting like two feet away from him.  He’s standing and sitting and grunting and thrusting and rubbing and sweating.  I’m trying to ignore him this whole time.  I feel like I should say something, but what?  Is he okay?  Do I need to get a doctor?  I don’t want to talk to this guy. 

After a few minutes of this business, he decides it’s time to leave.  He looks at me, smiles and yells, “WELL, ENJOY.  I HEATED IT UP FOR YOU IN HERE!  HEH HEH HEH.”

What did he mean by that?  I felt like I was on an episode of Seinfeld.  Why do these things only seem to happen to me?

My husband has all the luck.  The weirdest thing that happens to me away from home is when an old lady asks me to reach stuff for her on the top shelf in the grocery store.  Then any grunting I experience is my own.  Bor-ing.

All the good stuff?
Happens to THIS guy.


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