Alternate Post Title: Con{FUZE}d About What I Just Drank
Warning: this post is long, but more importantly…it’s not for the faint of heart.
It’s downright nauseating.
{Consider yourself warned}
Here we go…
I was multitasking: bathing my little rascals while catching up with an old friend who I hadn’t seen for almost a year. She sat on a stool nearby, while I conveniently propped myself beside the tub; official slippery-child-catcher, privvy-washer and squirt-toy-confiscator.
I couldn’t help but chuckle as my son rose triumphantly from the water and stood, proudly sticking his little belly out {along with what my husband seems to think guys refer to as their “junk”}.
My daughter sat facing him. The concerned expression on her face said it all…
”please, oh please…don’t pee on me!”
He sat back down before any anointing could occur {insert sigh of relief here}.
But it got me thinking.
So I went on to tell my friend all about the time my older sister and I – only 8 and 9 at the time – were bathing together…she lay backwards in the water at the very moment she decided it would be fun to pee in the tub. It was classic. The sheer velocity with which her urine shot towards me made me to throw my head back and shriek with laughter.
And then it hit.
Her shooting pee. Me laughing with my mouth open. I’ll let you figure out the rest.
{yuck!}
This story led me to share an even more disturbing one – also involving pee…and me – from just 5 years ago. No, it’s not a trend. That would mean I can expect more of this nonsense in the future.
Moving right along…
{seriously…you don’t have to read this. Prepare to be royally grossed out.
But it is hilariously funny…so you won’t regret it. Unless you’re a pansy.}
On we forge!
My hubby and I had been married for 2 years and had yet to welcome any loin-fruit into our little family. He was working for Brinks {the armored moola courier}, travelling many miles a day on a very tight schedule, while I managed the women’s gym I had helped open.
We had recently fallen in love with the FUZE line of drinks and were able to get them at cost because of my gym connection. This provided my hubby a steady flow of yummy, healthy beverages in his lunch cooler each day.
On this particular cruel and terrible day, my hubby had been en route to a pick-up an hour away, travelling in the back of the truck, when the need to find a bathroom {stat} arose. Their schedule didn’t allow for stops so he was forced to get creative. The recently emptied FUZE bottle sitting beside him caught his eye. It was promptly refilled {if you know what I mean} and placed back in his cooler for later disposal. Weird, but resourceful.
Flash forward 4 hours.
Being the saintly wife that I am {ahem}, I was sweetly cleaning out my husband’s cooler while he got some work done in the office upstairs.
Oh lucky me!! Today he had taken a flavor I had yet to try – Tropical Punch – and had only drunk half of it. Still chilled from the ice pack, I whipped that sucker out, twisted off the cap and took a healthy swig.
{it’s okay…you can vomit a little in your mouth. I did}.
Because the cap and the top of the bottle still had remnant of tropical punch on them, the overpowering scent of urine didn’t hit me until it was too late. My initial thought was: “no wonder he didn’t finish it…it’s revolting!”.
And then the disturbing reality sunk in.
As I choked, spat and rinsed my mouth repeatedly over the kitchen sink, entire-pack-of-gum-chewing/plunger scenes from the first Ace Venture movie raced through my mind…”Finkle is Einhorn….Einhorn is Finkle…noooooooooo!”.
Feeling violated, I staggered upstairs and stood in the doorway of the office, boring a death-glare through the back of my husband’s head. He spun around and looked at me with a quizzical look, unsure of why I looked like I might want him dead.
And then it hit him.
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen someone laugh so hard they actually cry while at the same time feeling honestly, terribly dreadful about it. He repeatedly apologized {in between canning himself} and attempted to explain to his contemptuous wife that it had fully been his intention to discard the bottle at his next stop. He had clean forgotten.
I don’t know about you, but I tend to feel that the sincerity of an apology hinges on the sobering tenderness in which it is delivered.
Yeah. About that.
In hindsight, this story totally cracks me up.
But the day it happened…not so much. I didn’t talk to my hubby for a good hour. I just glared. And wretched. And sipped mouth wash.
Needless to say, I can’t see a Tropical Punch FUZE and not gag.
And now you know why.
Over and out.
