|Dangerspouse Rides Again|
Garage - Track
Jul. 09, 2013 - 6:01 p.m.
So I Married a Gay Guy
There's this religious fundamentalist argument which goes: "If we allow gay marriage, young people will see it as a viable option. If they see it as a viable option they'll try gay sex. And if they try gay sex and like it, they might decide to go gay." You know that one?
Twelve years ago, at our wedding, NewWifey(tm) looked like this:
She's the one on the left. Yes, we got married on our bikes, racing to the alter from either side around a cluster of startled guests. Yes, we're dorks. Yes, that's a giant grease stain on her dress she's holding up. Predictably enough, it got caught in the chain as soon as she dropped the clutch. She cut it out and framed it. And yes, I'm wearing a novelty hat that says "GROOM". Class all the way, baby.
Anyway, see those loooooong ruby tresses on NewWifey(tm)? The ones they PhotoShop onto heroines on the covers of bodice rippers? Those ruby tresses make GREAT handlebars at night. And they look pretty, too.
Yeah. I was hittin' that.
Those long tresses lasted, I dunno, 6 or 7 years. Then one day, in an act of uncharacteristic charity, NewWifey(tm) donated all but a few inches of them to "Locks of Love" so they could be made into the world's best wig and given to some loser kid with cancer who's probably not gonna live long enough to appreciate their carnal advantage.
But...I didn't complain. She did it out of the goodness of her heart. The mistaken goodness, but the goodness of her heart nonetheless. Besides, she still had enough left to just about touch her shoulders, and she also grows hair like Georgia grows kudzu. It would only be a matter of months - maybe hours - before I was back in the saddle again, so to speak.
And indeed after a few months she was out-tressing the other babes on the block by a wide margin again.
Until she had that cancer thingy herself just a few years ago and the chemo left her with a covering about as fine as the greens at Augusta National. And guess what? No crummy kid came to HER aid with a donation of youthful locks. Ingrates, all of 'em....
Still...no complaints on my end. She had cancer, and as long as it wasn't vaginal cancer I was behind her 100%. Or maybe, 60%. Gotta go face-to-face sometimes, if just for a change of view.
Then the cancer shrivelled up and died and her hair came back. She never did let it get to the length that used to make me drop to my knees and beg her to whip me, but it was at least a semblance of its former glory. And that's the way it's stayed ever since. Every now and then it gets a little longer, and every now and then she trims it back a couple of inches. In general though, it averages out to around shoulder length. Noooooooooo problemo for me and Little Elvis.
But now we are in the middle of a heatwave. It's not "birds spontaneously combusting in mid-flight" hot, but it's certainly outside our normal comfort zone. In fact, the digital thermometer at the golf course we passed on our way to a picnic Sunday afternoon about 20 miles north of Dangerhouse said it was 104 (F).
104 is w-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-y too hot for NewWifey(tm). Her fair Irish skin is in serious danger of sloughing right off her skeleton when the thermometer heads north of 85. She lies gasping on the floor for breath, convulsing until her eyes roll back in her skull if we have a power outage and the air conditioners go out for even an hour. If the freezer were big enough she'd be curled up in there next to the frozen jello shots for at least 3 months a year.
So this is not a good time to be NewWifey(tm).
And she lets me know that at every. single. turn. She is miserable, and not graciously so.
I, ever the dutiful husband, pat her *not quite* on the head (the heat of my hand makes her scream) whenever she gets particularly pathetic, and make her iced mango lassies and let her walk around naked (got kicked out of several nice shops) and in general do everything except make the thermometer go down. Which means, not enough.
Yesterday NewWifey(tm) came home and she was bald.
Guys, she was BALD.
Do you know what this means, men? (Chicks, shut up.)
BTW, I can't bring myself to show you the evidence. The love that dares not speak its name also dares not post damning pictures.
"OH MY GOD HONEY, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?! WHAT FIEND ATTACKED YOU WITH AN AGENT ORANGE BOMB???"
"Oh this?" she said, pointing in the general direction of her ex-hair. "It's been so hot lately I thought I'd cut my hair shorter to stay cool."
"Shorter? Did you say 'shorter'? You look like you've been waxed! And I'VE SEEN YOU WAXED!"
"Yeah, they did cut it pretty close. But that's what I asked for, so, mission accomplished."
"Honey, that's not 'pretty close'. I can see the reflection of my ear mites in your skull. You're a bald dude, babe! I'm half expecting to see a new urine-and-shoe-polish prison tat running down your side in a series of hieroglyphs only decipherable to your 'hood.
"No tats. Just the hair. You like it?"
Ok, waddaya ya do here guys? It's a classic "make me look fat?" variation. If you lie, she might want to go out with you in public like that. People will think you have a thing for fat/bald chicks. If you don't, you won't have a fat/bald chick any longer.
I knew what card to play.
"Oh, I like it just fine. But...well, Little Elvis apparently thinks it needs some getting used to."
"WHAT? So you're saying I look good, but you can't get it up because of how I look?"
And I watched the back of a bald soon-to-be ex-wife stomp away towards the bedroom.
Wrong card. I had to act fast. There was only one card left, and it's never failed.
"HA HA HA HAAAAAA! You fell for it! Sucker. I was just kidding - Little Elvis is rarin' to go here, maybe moreso than normal since you're sporting that stylin' new 'do. Your beautiful face isn't all covered by those stupid old curls now...and bangs...and...hair."
She eyed me suspiciously. After 12 years, she has lie radar.
"Prove it. Sack or recliner, your choice. Now."
But I'm not a professional morning show liar for nothing.
"Alright! Woo hoo! Let's go, honey! Little Elvis is standing up and cheering already! Just...listen, why don't you grab a quick shower first. You got some clippings on the back of your neck and shoulders, and I don't want you to start itching...."
Her look softened. "Well then, get to the bedroom and get ready for the best sex with a bald chick you ever had. I'll be there in 10 minutes." And down the hall to the shower she went.
The next 8 minutes were spent frantically clicking through RedTube for all the long haired lesbian videos I could open at once. I needed ammo, and I needed it FAST.
From down the hall I could hear the water had stopped running. I bolted out of the chair, jumped into the bed and pulled the covers up coquettishly only halfway. It made a little tent. God bless lesbians. With hair.
NewWifey(tm) opened the door, saw the little tent, and laughed. "RedTube, huh? They never fail you."
"Shit! How did you know?"
"Listen honey, we've been married how long now? I know you. You hate short hair. You probably feel like you're gonna have to fuck a guy now. I'll tell you what: you do know how gay guys have sex, right?"
And she rolled over.
Turns out I love gay sex!
Ok, sure, not having handlebars sucked a bit. But otherwise, might as well get that rainbow tat right now!
I wonder what other wonderful ideas those religious fundies have I could try....
ps. No, this is not a sex blog now. It's just that that's all that's been going on around here for the last week. I paint what I see.