Hey, grandma. Put down that tie. Let me tell you some things your baby boy really needs this Christmas.
1. Gas-X, Bulk Size
At first it was kind of funny. “Oh, you silly rascal! Quit tooting! I’m trying to watch ‘Castaway’.” But after a decade, I’ve really had it with the flatulence. If he pulls the Dutch Oven trick one more time or kills another innocent house plant with his methane, I’m going to catch murder charges. Make. It. Stop.
2. Febreze, Bulk Size
We have three bathrooms but my better half always decides to park his lily white butt cheeks on the ceramic bowl closest to me. Doing your makeup? Oh, I’ll crack one off right here, honey. Going upstairs to do a little writing? I’ll drop a deuce in the toilet next to the office, dear. For the love of all that is holy, man, I don’t want to smell recycled Philly Cheesesteak and Au Jus. Someone get this man some Febreze….and a holster for it. Stat.
3. Audio Recorder
Like every other homo sapien with a 5 o’clock shadow and a favorite t-shirt stained with bean dip, my husband doesn’t hear a word that I say. I’d like to slap an audio recorder down on the dinner table, right between the butter dish and the pepper, and record our conversations like a cop in an interrogation room. Maybe then he can play it back and know to pick up the friggin’ bread and milk and Nutella so we don’t starve when the blizzard probably doesn’t hit.
4. A Planner Filled With Important Things He Should Already Know
It’s your twelfth cousin’s birthday, sweetheart. What did you get her? Nothing?! Oh, that’s right. I’m the one who buys the gifts for all of your obscure relatives. It would be so great if I didn’t have to solely take care of these things anymore. So my husband needs a color coded planner marked with birthdays, gift ideas, and other useful facts i.e. our anniversary date and detailed information about little Timmy’s cotton, water, color and air allergy. Good luck picking out his gift, dear.
5. Television Time Limit Control
Some nights I don’t mind my husband lounging on the couch to watch “Pawn Stars” for hours on end (I definitely don’t mind on the nights we have chili for dinner- that whole farting thing), but sometimes I need him to turn off the booming television and come rub my swollen and exhausted feet. Although he is a grown man, he really needs a time limit control on the T.V. He’d probably moan as much as the kids do when their time limit has been reached on the Kindle, but he’ll get over it after a long bout of crying and writhing around on the floor, beating his fists into the carpet and calling me "the meanest mommy ever".
6. Temporary Gluten Allergy
I know gluten allergies aren’t anything to joke about, and I wouldn’t wish gluten intolerance on my worst enemy. However, I would like to wish it on my husband when he’s about 6 beers in and he decides it’s a good idea to sit on the back porch and sing every song in the Garth Brooks’ catalog. “And the thunder rolls---wait. Oh gosh. I can’t go on. I’m experiencing nausea, digestive discomfort, diarrhea, abdominal cramps, headache, nasal congestion and hives. I don’t know what’s come over me, but I should probably go inside and rub my beautiful wife’s feet.”
7. Cooking Lessons
I’m tired of whipping up gourmet meals every evening. And I’m tired of his idea of “cooking dinner”- burning a frozen pizza or forgetting to put the hamburger in the Helper. He won’t heed my culinary advice, so I wish someone, anyone, would teach this man how to make a “meatloaf” that isn’t pink in the middle or destined to give everyone in the family the runs.
8. A Mind Reader
I’m thinking of some sort of tinfoil/coat hanger contraption sprinkled with Pat Sajak’s magical dandruff flakes. Husband can wear it on his head and when I say, “I’m fine”, gamma rays or something will kick in and he’ll automatically know to rub my feet, fold the laundry and take out the garbage. And stop farting.
Seriously, all joking aside, the man needs underwear. I don’t know what he does all year, but each Christmas he needs a new pair because his boxer shorts resemble bleached Swiss cheese.
10. 90 Day Course in Romance
Rosetta Stone can teach him Gaelic, but they don’t offer a course on romance. What's that all about? It's too bad because I would gladly spend 5 easy payments of $29.99 for him to realize that farting, crapping within 5 feet of me, forgetting everything I say, making me buy gifts for his great-great-step-uncle’s dog, devoting an unreasonable amount of time to Chumley on History Channel., acting a fool after a few brews, cooking up a big batch of Dysentery for the family, not reading my mind and wearing tattered drawers is not romantic.It's really not.
He’s been pretty good this year. I mean, despite my nagging wife gripes, he's a pretty good dude. So, please, grandma, get him something we’ll both appreciate.