Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Why My Pants Smelled Like Gravy

As I saw the KFC Bowl slide off the dashboard, turn 180 degrees and head towards my crotchal area, I wrongly assumed it would land in a thud, creating a perfect upside-down representation of what had previously been in the container. Perhaps I should have paid closer attention in physics class...or perhaps I should have actually enrolled in physics class instead of pretending that I took physics and didn't pay attention.

The impact from the layers of mashed potatoes, corn, cheese, chicken and gravy caused a dispersal pattern that stretched from my left shoulder down to my boot-covered feet.

For the first few seconds, I sat in stunned silence as I tried to comprehend the horror of what I had just witnessed. Then my bottom lip began to quiver. My husband, realizing that I was on the verge of tears, began scooping the junk food back into the bowl with his bare hands. I grabbed our only two napkins and tried to help with the clean-up. I was nauseous. Corn becomes quite unappetizing when it is stuck to your shoe.

We managed to remove all but the gravy.

Then my husband handed me the bowl filled with the food that had just been removed from my clothing and said, "Eat." Understandably, I said, "I don't want to eat." He wasn't taking no for an answer. "Eat."

I ate. After all these years, he understands that low blood sugar plus trauma equals hours of weeping. He was going to get that food into me even if it meant forcing me to lick my own pants.

The first few sporkfuls were unappealing but I dutifully managed to consume what remained. And I didn't cry.

Next time I'll get more napkins.


Liz said...

Sometimes a good husband is even better than a mom. Don't ya think?

Traci Skene said...

I think every husband/wife needs to be part spouse/part parent. It sounds sick, but it's true.