Don’t you dare feel sorry for him.

From time to time, things tend to get a little awkward around these parts. I don’t hold much back in the things I share with you all, and sometimes that includes some pretty embarrassing stories involving Justin. Like the time his fart smells woke me up from a dead sleep and made me throw up. You know, sweet stuff like that.

Some of you have sweetly voiced your concern about this. While I think it’s very kind of you to be worried about Justin’s tender feelings, I assure you that he is not only okay with the fact that I share these stories, he’s proud of them. Yes, I can safely say that my husband is quite proud of his smells. In some cases, he even tells me what he thinks I should write about on here, which brings me to my story…

A few days ago I was sitting on the couch watching tv and Justin was in his chair a few feet away. I kept getting whiffs of this gross sour smell, but didn’t say anything about it for a good 20 minutes. I kept giving Justin the side eye and tried to see if there was any indication on his face that he smelled it too, but he didn’t seem to be bothered by it. But man, It was sick. Almost as bad as the demon fart from that one horrible night.

After some time had passed and the smell was still lingering, I said something to him.

Me: Justin… do you smell something?

Justin: It wasn’t me.

Me: No, it’s not like a farty smell. It’s sour. Like old milk or something.

Justin: Nope. Don’t smell anything.

Me: -staring down at his feet– Umm…

Justin: What??

Me: I think it’s your feet. Smell them.

Justin: I’m not going to smell my feet. You’re nuts.

Then he stuck his foot right in my face and I died. I’m typing to you from my grave right now. It was nice knowing you all.

Anyway, even after I was visibly sick from the smell of his feet, he STILL didn’t believe me! He called me crazy and said something about me imagining things. Oooh no, Homie don’t play that.

Me: I’m serious… it’s YOU. Smell them!

Justin: I can’t smell my own feet. I don’t bend that way.

Me: Oh my gosh… Then take off your sock and smell it.

Justin: Hey Maddie, come here!

Maddie:toddles on over, innocent and unsuspecting– Hi Dad-dyyyy.

Justin:holding up his sock– Here, smell this.

If you’re wondering… YES, IT IS WAS CRUEL AS IT SOUNDS. Poor little Maddie took a whiff of his sock and made the most disgusted, horrified face I’ve ever seen her make in her life. She said, “NOOOOOOO!!!!!!“, wimpered and shook her head back and forth in disgust. Justin was cracking up.

So yeah. All it took was making his wife die and his child nearly pass out from the tortuous stench to make Justin finally realize that yes, his feet did in fact stink.

The Harsh Realities of Marriage

See this face?

That, my friends, is the face of a monster. RUN FOR YOUR LIIIIIVES!

(Okaynotreally. I love the guy to death, but for the sake of dramatics, indulge me for a minute.)

When I was younger, I had visions of married life pretty much being a never ending slumber party. You know…  movie marathons, an abundance of junk food, talking to your BFF for hours on end, braiding each other’s hair, etc.

What, you don’t braid your husbands hair? Okay, not so much, but you get what I’m saying. I was a day-dreamy girl and slumber parties were my favorite thing in the world at the time. Stay with me here.

(Just a side note, there is some pretty… interesting slumber party stuff on the internet. Exhibit A.)

So now that I’ve been married 4 years and have been properly schooled in the art of being a wife and all that comes along with it (HA. Right.), I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Marriage? Yeah, not a the slumber I envisioned. Oh it’s a slumber party alright, but not like the fun ones you remember. There are no late night movie marathons starring Jennifer Garner. There are late night video game marathons starring loud shooty things and husbands that yell obscenities. There is no braiding of hair. There is however, cleaning up of billions of tiny man whiskers all over the bathroom. But most importantly, and I wish I had known this going into it, there is no actual sleeping. Like, ever.

See, Justin has issues with sleep, which now means that I have issues with sleep. On the nights he stays up late, tossing and turning, I also stay up late tossing and turning. When he gets up for a big, loud, gulpy drink of water, I wake up as well. It’s bad, but I never really minded it until this one night when something truly horrific happened…

We had been married less than a year at the time. We were both sleeping soundly until it happened. Justin farted. AND IT WAS VERY, EXTREMELY, NOT GOOD.

It smacked me across the face and woke me up with the force of a thousand demons. Worst smell of my life. I jumped out of bed immediately and said, “JUSTIN! OH MY G–“, cupped my hand over my mouth and bolted for the bathroom. As if that wasn’t bad enough, as I was rounding the end of the bed, Justin groggily mumbled, “hrmmffl. Babe, can you turn off the tv? grbglllftt.” And then he fell right back to sleep while I was throwing up from his foul smells. That is nerve, people.

The thing is, Justin and I have about 20 memorable stories like this, where he’s woken me up in some way or another and fallen back asleep while I’m left to fend for my life. A few nights ago, he literally punched me in the face and said “WHAT’S THAT!?” while pointing at the ceiling. I was all freaked out thinking it was a bug or something and he fell right back to sleep. I was all, ‘What? Justin, what is it!?!?” and he was out. He swears he doesn’t remember any of these things, but I think it’s a conspiracy. He knows. Ohhh, he knows.

Moral of my really sick story: Marriage is a never ending, braidless, sleepless slumber party of doom. And farts. You have been warned.

[ image credit for creepy slumber party dolls ]