Y'all, I try to keep it clean here. I try not to write anything my mom would not want to read or anything that could not be discussed in G- or at least PG-rated company.
This is what I do because of my mom. When SH and I went to England a couple of years ago, I posted this photo of Cambridge. Safe, right?
But sometimes -- well -- sometimes life is a little messy and I have to talk about the icky stuff. Sorry, Mom.
So. I felt something in the middle of my back where I couldn't reach well. I asked SH if it was a pimple and he confirmed that yes indeed it was.
But I did not post this photo of our shagadelic hotel room because although I am pretty sure my mom knew we didn't have separate rooms, I did not see the point in throwing that fact into her face. We're married now, so I think she expects us to share a room. The secret can be told; the photo can be shown.*
Me: Would you squeeze it, please?
SH: That's disgusting!
Me: I can't reach it.
SH: [deep, martyred sigh] Fine. Wait. [gets a square of toilet paper -- we are not Kleenex people in this house]
Me: What's that for?
SH: I don't want to touch it. [See: "Lets cats lick hands and face."]
Me: Oh for crying out loud. I would squeeze a zit for you. I would lance a cyst for you.**
Honestly. It's not as if I had asked him to clean my snotty nose or change my diaper. (Note: I do not wear diapers. I wore them at night until I was seven because I was a bedwetter, which made spending the night at a friend's house a dicey option, not that I ever made it through an entire night. I remember calling my parents to come get me at about 9:00 p.m. a couple of times because I just couldn't bear the homesickness of being at Lisa S's house, 52A, on the other side of the fourplex where we lived in 52D. Sorry about that, too, Mom, but I am in full control of all bodily functions these days.) Not only that, but this came from the man who thinks that marriage is a license to burp freely. He still makes somewhat of an attempt to control his tooting.
One of the great things about England is the tarts.
Now, I know it's important not to be too familiar with each other. I close the bathroom door when I am conducting my necessities, although I have decided that flossing my teeth in front of him is not going to cause him to run to the arms of another woman. I understand the importance of not letting it All Hang Out just because we're married now and he's stuck with me. But part of the marriage contract is supporting each other and part of that, as far as I am concerned, is that he squeezes the pimples I cannot reach.
I am way more modest now than I was when I was a kid.
* SH's parents thought I was all kinds of bizarre when he took me to meet them the first time and I told SH that I thought we should sleep in separate rooms at their house.
** I would totally do that because there is still part of me that wishes I had gone to med school. I can't watch someone get a shot in a movie, but I am deft with a match, a needle and a splinter or a cyst. Maybe surgery is OK as long as I am the one slicing and dicing.