Parley vous, Le Penis?

In my house of two adults and three non-adults, and one dog, we maintain only one bathroom. Thus, we only have one toilet. Oh we’ve talked of framing in one for the downstairs and how wonderful it will be to have a whopping TWO bathrooms. However, these discussions have not produced results. To make matters worse: there is no lock on our bathroom door. It’s an old door we bought from the dead lady’s house that was behind our house. The house is still there though, but as mentioned, she, whose name is/was Bea, is not. When she died, alone amidst decades of dusty antiques and orange, shag carpeting, Bea’s children decided to try and sell off what they could of their mother’s medley of household minutiae.

So that’s how we ended up with an old wooden door with a latch that doesn’t line up with our, newer, but cheaply made, bathroom entry way. Which brings us to last Friday. It’s about noon-thirty and I need to take a leak. I step into the bathroom, walk to the toilet, carefully avoiding the small plastic items which find their way to the floor of our bathroom on a regular basis: Lego pieces, Matchbox cars, plastic horses, roach clips…

I make it to the toilet unscathed, lift the seat up and begin. Looking up I noticed a little pink book that Mary placed on the shelf, next to the pink conch shell, and next to the pink hand-soaps. Pinkalicious!! I pick up the miniature book and read the cover: "Mais Ouis!" A little book of French Phrases. I figure this is as good a time as ever to learn some French phrases. Heck, Mary speaks French, I have a French phrase book in my hand….I say, GO FOR IT!!

So there I am, a little French phrase book in one hand, my pouring penis in the other, as I loudly and proudly pronounce little French phrases. Apparently, I was reading them so loud that my wife assumed that I was not relieving myself and entered the bathroom to put away toiletries, or something trivial that could have waited until there was peace in the Middle East to be placed in its proper compartment.

However, seeing me with a little French book in one hand, and my manhood in the other, did not phase my wife who is used to such idiosyncratic behavior. She placed said items under the sink and uttered a sweet, "Hey honey," as she left the room.

This is a huge difference between dating and marriage. Imagine that you are in the early dating period of someone you really liked and she walks in on you, in the bathroom, in the situation that I just described. Then again, if this did happen, and she still liked you, you would know that she was the perfect one for you.

(Next Blog: one day after this happened I was placing my hand upon Lord Stanley’s Cup …..Be sure to tune in!!) But wait, here's the link to my brush with Lord Stanley: http://blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-ToT4kRcreqvrFq0Ehby6NDgs