I am at the park with my son right now. As with most things in life, the park reminds me of Donut. I’m having a flash back of being in bed with him one morning, my head on his arm. He was telling me about an incredible park he had taken his daughter to once and suggested I take my kids there. I responded By telling him we should all go and that I wished I didn’t have to leave, I wished we could spend the day together. He ignored me even though there was nothing holding us back from doing just that. Well, except for him.
Now, I don’t know if this is a girl thing, or if this is just something (specifically) I do but right at this moment I can tell you the very last time I wore each item I have on my body. My shoes, I wore to see Donut. My earrings are from “the incident” that happened that Saturday before Halloween. Lastly, my dress I wore the night I met my ex-husband, Beans.
Beans texted me this morning to tell me our three year old daughter pee’d on his chair. She did it intentionally thinking it was funny. I responded with some parenting tips I picked up in one of the MANY self-help books I have been obsessively reading this month. I also gave Beans a link to my blog and warned him I would be writing about him today, he wasn’t pleased. I will tell you the same thing I told him: this is something I have to do.
Let me tell you a little about Beans. Beans is tall, tattooed (are you sensing a type?) and bald with the biggest blue eyes you have ever seen. Beans had women falling over him, my best friend and mother included. He was hung like an Italian sausage, if an Italian sausage hung from a buffalo. Except, it rarely worked. Beans had a pill addiction.
I never saw beans the way the rest of the female world viewed him. Sometimes I think I married Beans because he was bald and I knew I would never have to give him a hair cut. I think he married me because he is slightly, mentally retarded. In reality I married Beans for instant gratification.
I met beans at concert in a casino in Las Vegas. The truth is I went out that night with a friend, Robin, hoping to bump into Morthos (the human warlock, who I was still obsessed with at the time and had just dumped me). I had a strong feeling to go out and begged my little brother to come over and babysit for me (at the time I was a single mother living alone in Las Vegas). I met Robin at the show. We watched the band, I noticed a tall, OK looking guy in a beanie, chucks and leather jacket watching me from the crowd. The concert ended and we were leaving as we ran into a guy Robin was hooking up with. He introduced us to his friends, one of them was the guy in the beanie, Beans (though that is not where he acquired this handle).
We hung out for a while. Beans told me he owned a restaurant. He seemed very ambitious, he talked about his dream of owning his own condiment company (Beans really lived off his family). The night grew late, I was ready to get home so I asked Beans for directions to the freeway. He told me that he was also going that way and I could follow him. I followed Him for a few blocks.
That’s when it happened.
I started honking the horn. I flashed my lights at him, put on my flashers and pulled over to the side of the road. Beans also pulled over. He asked me if everything was OK. I said it was and then I asked him to join me for a drink, right now.
We stopped at the first open bar. Beans was a gentleman and bought me a drink (I was having red bull this night, thank you very much) then he ordered himself a double shot. We sat at a tall bar table on two wobbly bar stools. I told Beans my immediate life story. He listened to me intently, his giant blue eyes absorbing every detail, his face twisted in concern. BEANS CARED! He cared about every detail. He said things like:
“Wow, that’s so horrible! How are you handling it? You poor thing! How could anyone do that to you? I would never do something like that!”
He said all the right things. Beans had charm, charisma, he knew exactly how to talk to people. He has a lot of friends.
Flash forward: Our third date aka the night I am no longer considered a slut if I “put out”. I had Beans over and cooked a romantic dinner. We drank wine, I talked, Beans listened. We joked, we laughed, we kissed….. Then we went to bed. The sex was OK, pretty average. Beans monster schlong performed to peak perfection. I fell asleep in his arms.
That’s when it happened.
Around three AM I awoke to beans getting up and going into the bathroom. He walked in and closed the door. Almost immediately I heard it. The sounds of an upset stomach relieving itself in all its glory. You see, earlier that week I had re-arranged my room placing the head of my bed directly touching the wall to the bathroom. I hadn’t had company before this and had no idea how thin the wall was.
The next part pretty much set the precedent of our entire relationship.
Beans (this still is NOT where he earned his handle) finished emptying his bowels. He wiped, he flushed….but there is one thing he did not do that early morning after our first love session, he did not wash his hands. Beans left the bathroom and crawled back into bed placing his bacteria ridden hands ALL OVER MY BODY.
I never fell back asleep.
One grey Kia, one blue Kia and a white Scion.
You have an amazing 6th sense which if bundled in an App would rock the digital world. Hand wash and gargle make for a must have upgrade. Yeah I wouldn’t sleep either. Funny how we would eat below the equator but reject the hands that prepped the salad. Yeah, I too wanna hear a 20 Mule Team Borax, Irish Spring hand brush scrub. Nothing says he cares like an Ipana smile or Crest once over. Maybe it’s good he he did neither or you’d be on the road to further misadventure..
LMAO! Ya but, I may have been wrong. You see I now have a great boyfriend who ALSO had to be taught how to wash up after a poo….at least this one doesn’t run a restaurant!