Can I try something?

I am not sure if all husbands are like mine. In fact I am quite sure they are not. And yet, after 14 years of marriage, I am still amazed at how I get sucked right into Taylor's experiments. By experiments, I don't mean the scientific kind. I mean the kind where I am the subject of the experiment. He even is polite enough to ask if he can try "something".

"Sure!" I say. As I bend over to put something in the garbage. I am used to all kinds of antics where Taylor is concerned; one can never be to cautious where Taylor's brain is involved. I, nevertheless, being his wife, have forgotten that I am not exempt from his clown humor.

I feel something in the waistband of my jeans and I assume that he has put some kind of dumb thing back there like a hard boiled egg or mashed potatoes or perhaps even a raw hot dog, because that is the kind of thing he thinks is humorous.

At this moment my brain sends a signal to my mouth that ends in a screech and a flailing action, because, what I thought was an innocent object in the waistband of my jeans, turns out to be a funnel which Taylor poured cold water into.




Taylor is overcome by hysterics, and then to add insult to injury he takes pictures of my behind, which I post for all the world to see.

Life is certainly never dull, and it is full of contrast. Some of us get clown cars and some of us get clown husbands.