Life is Funny. Period

For my birthday this year, we decided to take the fam on a little road trip up to the mountains.  My friend Meredith would like to get married and start a family so I invited her to come along before she made any rash decisions about her life.  Once Mer arrived and I had her secluded in the mountains, I told her the real reason I asked her to come was because I wanted to talk to her about “accepting Jesus Christ into her heart”  (this will prove to be ironic, keep reading) and added that Mike and I have decided she would make a lovely “sister-wife”.  Then I told her I was just fucking with her and that this weekend was really a “scared straight” program so she could re-evaluate her life of freedom and solitude.

I find that my children rarely fail to disappoint when I facilitate one of my “programs”.  Never  mind that my spawn were staying in a 4 star hotel in the mountains with room service, heated pools and hot tubs, it was the discovery of free maxi-pads and tampons in the ladies locker room made them shriek with insurmountable joy like they had hit the pre-pubescent, not menstruating for another 8 years lottery.  I was especially amused when we joined a young couple on the elevator while my children were feverishly clutching their tampons and sanitary napkins.  My daughter graciously explained that they were bringing them back to the room as a present for their dad.  Curiously Mer seemed to be cheering up.  (I find this is usually the case about an hour into my programs).

Back in the room, the girls were playing with their newfound treasures when they asked me what they were for.  I have always maintained the vitality in openly discussing bodily related topics with my children so that they do not accidentally receive accurate information from the kids on the playground.  Following my brief synopsis of menstruation, my eldest daughter (who is smarter than most college graduates and all politicians) pondered this information momentarily and asked how she could really bleed for 5 whole days and not die.  I decided this would be a good time to defer to Mer for further explanation.  To my delight, my cherished friend delivered a “full-on” demonstration on how a maxi-pad works.  The girls were intrigued, so I added that “right before a woman has her period she might be a little grouchy or even suicidal but that having your period can be really fun!”  I then told them to go throw a tampon in the toilet and watch it expand so I could finish blow drying my hair.    

After a long sleepless night crammed into one hotel room listening to my children grind their teeth, complain of growing pains, fall out of bed (twice), talk in their sleep, kick and snore, Mer informed me that her cat was sick and she really needed to get home.  Ahhhhhh, yet another satisfied customer I thought as my daughter and I waved at the dust cloud left behind her car as her tires squealed out.  I was so proud of my intervention that I barely noticed the senile, crazier than batshit, old lady watching me as I made my way back through the lobby.

I was holding my 4 year old when the woman approached me at the elevator and asked if I was part of the wedding that was taking place that night at the hotel.  I told her that we were just up visiting for the weekend.  She then proceeded to inform me that “This wedding was very special”. This is probably a great time to interject that I have a visible malformation on my face called my eyes.  They are big and round always make me look interested in what people are saying even when I could care less, which is notably most of the time.

 Pissed because I forgot my sunglasses to hide my deformities, I smiled at the old lady and told her that I hoped she had a nice time.  She went on to say that “the bride and groom are Christians.”  I told her that was awesome and firmly pushed the elevator button once again.  Then to my utter amazement, Grandma proceeded to drop the atomic bomb of confessions and said “You know, the bride is thirty-three and the groom is thirty-four and they have never had sex!  Tonight will be their first time!”  Um no, I ABSOLUTELY did not know that.  O.M.G.

I was in a state of baffled hysteria at the thought of a woman throwing away nearly a decade and a half of her life not getting penetrated and then making the dim-witted mistake of getting M-A-R-R-I-E-D to the first and ONLY penis she would ever meet (theoretically).  Now, it has been a reeeeaaaaalllllyy long time since I became devirginized (yes, I have made this a word so shut up), but I do recall feeling like I humped a cactus for days afterward.  And furthermore, having reached the ripe old age of thirty-two, I wholeheartedly expect my designated penis (AKA: Mike) to know what he is doing.  Annnnnnnnd as my husband will concede, I am admittedly a selfish, selfish lover who has been enlightened to the magical powers my vagina possesses.  My heart ached for this poor girl who was about to entrust her innocent, naïve vagina to an inexperienced penis that probably thought the g-spot was what goes after “f” in the alphabet.

My anxiety levels were skyrocketing and my mind was whirling as we snuck across the hall and watched the wedding through a hotel window.  I momentarily considered that these people might be hideously unattractive which could possibly explain their inability to get laid prior to their joyous introduction and subsequent proposal.  However, my theory was quickly rebuffed when a pretty, angelic, totally bangable bride walked down the aisle and joined hands with her soon to be husband of average height, no visible acne and a full head of hair.  Mike and I were in hysterics as we made the shocking revelation that someone had pulled a fast one over Granny.

*I feel compelled to interject that I am not judging this lie.  I personally was 4 months pregnant when Mike and I got married.  We told my grandparents that she was 6 months premature but completely advanced.  **Also worth noting, Mike claims he would have married me even if I wasn’t knocked up. I totally believe him.

We watched for a few more minutes until the wind blew a speaker over and pegged a groomsman in head and I peed myself.  I felt sort of bad for laughing at the latest development, especially when I learned from another guest the next day that the guy required 6 staples to close his gaping head wound.  But then I remembered the “virgin” bride who was probably having considerable trouble walking after consummating her marriage the night before.  I looked up at the clouds and silently thanked God for all the pogo-sticks I had been blessed with before I made my final selection and could just feel God winking at me.  XO