Tag Archives: relationship humor

Don’t Tell Me, We Don’t Know How To Have A Good Time

An amalgam used as a restorative material in a...

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It was a big Friday night at our place.

My tooth cracked off and I swallowed the portion with a silver filling in it. Silver fillings are full of mercury, highly toxic (and not recommended to have rolling around in your body, or a host of side effects will result). Essentially, you want that crap out.

I needed to induce vomiting to get it up, or head to the closest hospital to have my stomach pumped…I chose to do the former.

I drank a full glass of warm water with 1 & 1/4 tablespoons of salt dissolved in it. In case you have this listed as things-to-try-one-day-just-because, let me suggest that you cross it off the list. Its foul and as far as I can tell, almost always unnecessary.

Imagine seawater mixed with something that causes instant heartburn, a little sour milk thrown in for good measure (to help with the vomiting reflex), and that pretty much sums it up. It took me a few minutes, but I finally got it all down with a few ‘mini-upchucks’ in between.

My expert husband then gave me specific steps on how to shove your own fingers down your throat “the way the bulimic’s do” (his words), to get the salt-water mix – along with the filling – up in one huge, monstrous, vomitous action. (If you’re thinking ‘vomitous’ is not a real word, it is now – I just coined it.)

C’mon I’ve done this many times, if it’s not working, you aren’t pushing your fingers down far enough, just shove them down further;” he egged me on.  (I’m assuming he knows this from his many mornings of hangovers he tried to alleviate in this way during his former party years.)

How anyone can be bulimic is beyond me (no disrespect to all the bulimic’s out there), it was the most hideous experience of my life. But all credit to him, his instructions worked perfectly.

Taking the title (momentarily) as ‘Best Husband in the World’, he pulled on the rubber gloves and searched all of the er…contents, to make sure the filling came up. (He says I won’t be getting an anniversary gift this year, working through my puke was the gift, and surely evidence enough of his love.)

Finally, he founded the partial tooth, sans silver-mercury-laden-filling! What the hell?!?

We found out later from a doctor that the whole procedure was all in vain. Mercury is so heavy, you actually have to have your stomach pumped to get it out, there’s no way the action of vomiting by itself will do the job.

Good to know.

Essentially there was a 50/50 chance that I would make the right decision when it came to getting one of the most toxic substances in the world out of my system, and when it came to crunch time, I chose the wrong one. (Just another reason I don’t gamble, the gods are almost always universally against me.)

In the end, given the mercury was not yet out of my system, a detox procedure is in place, so it will no doubt be a fun few days at our place this week. That’s right, the party continues!

Don’t tell me we don’t know how to have a good time in our household, people!

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Torching Me Seems A Little Excessive

fire

Image by matthewvenn via Flickr

Hubby and I were doing spring cleaning around our place last week and as expected, marital bickering was a part of that deal. Even so, nothing prepared me for the following events.

I was weeding the garden and hubby decided to push past me on the path, instead of going the long way around me and keeping it nice and simple. (like a normal person). Sounds all very innocent, right?

At the time he was holding a whipper snipper (weed eater to the Americans), and had unscrewed the cap on it. (For a still-undisclosed reason, I might add.)

As a result, when he squeezed by me, he had to perform a contortionists act and in doing so, upended the contents of the whipper snipper tank all over my back.

Have you ever been doused in any kind of fuel? If you haven’t, and you have it on your list-of-things-to-do-before-you-die, I suggest you take it off. Now. (I can assure you, it’s nowhere near as cool or amusing as you may have imagined.)

For a split-second after it hit my back, I thought it was water and gave him the death stare while I screeched in protest. A nano-second later, when the stench hit my nose and I realized what it was, the death stare darkened and became even more evil, as I responded to my instant reflex – and stood up.

Big mistake. Huge.

Standing up caused the fuel to run further down my back to my, er… rear. An important point to note here, is that fuel running down your rear, burns. A lot.

I still hadn’t yet said a word to him as I bolted for the shower, with him following me calling out “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it! I’m so sorry!” (Being married to me for almost 10 years, he was well-aware that no sound from my mouth, coupled with the death stare = whole world of trouble for him.)

After I showered, I put the clothes in the washer and washed them three times. They still stink of fuel and will have to be thrown out; an outcome I am less than pleased about.

However, a slightly more disturbing issue is the fact that my husband doused me with fuel and cannot provide a plausible explanation as to how. He explained that he had the cap unscrewed, but couldn’t seem to elaborate as to why it would be undone on a tank full of fuel in the first place!

He maintains that since I did not view a lighter, pack of matches or a piece of flint on him, I cannot claim anything more sinister than the accident he is  professing. Still, a girl can’t help but have her suspicions and while I do, I’m planning on milking it for as many ‘make-it-up-to-me-gifts’ as I can get.

After all, in the midst of some garden-variety spring clean and tame marital bickering, torching me does seem a little excessive.

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