There are times when I keep secrets from my wife. Trust me, it makes life a lot easier on everyone involved.
Now, I know that there are those of you out there say that this is not the recipe for a healthy marriage. I say bullshit. Bullshit, you hear me! Secrets are necessary for a healthy marriage. It is necessary so that your partner doesn’t go running for the hills to become a nun. Granted, at this point my wife is pregnant so I think nunhood is out. But perhaps she would make a great beet farmer. Either way, that is exactly what I am trying to prevent with my secrets.
Eventually though all my secrets come out as my wife can read me like a book. She has a laser stare that would bore through 3 inches of steel. And I’m not talking about that pussy steel either. This is space shuttle steel. When she knows that I am keeping something from her the best strategy is to throw a book at her head and take off. Or I also find tripping the baby takes her mind off of me for a little while. But of course I can’t keep that up as Little Hoss is starting to shoot me dirty looks every time she walks around me. She’ll understand one day.
But this secret I’ve been able to keep from her for a good 24 hours. I deserve a god damn medal. Hand over the heart, people, when the Star Spangled banner comes on.
Yesterday I was sitting with Little Hoss. We were enjoying some good quality time together. She was trying to eat dog food off the floor and I was constantly trying to stop her. When she would get a nugget in that pie hole of hers I would make her spit it out. She would then go find some more. I suppose it would have been easier to just sweep but that would defeat the whole purpose of the game. The game being that I was just to damned tired to sweep. If the nugget of my loins want’s to eat dog food, screw it, I say let her chow down.
Soon Little Hoss got tired of this game when I stopped protesting and decided to go exploring places she is not allowed to go. Up the stairs, out the dog door or behind the entertainment center. Those seem to be her favorite places. She can go just about any where in the house except those three places so naturally she chooses to test my parenting skills.
She went behind the entertainment center and then poked her head out smiling. She did this two more times and started laughing. By this time I am beginning to wonder if she has gone crazy or perhaps there is some natural LSD in the dog food she has been eating. Either way, she is ignoring me when I tell her to get out from behind the entertainment center because there will be hell to pay if Daddy’s cable goes out and I can’t watch Monday Night Football.
I go get her and scoop her up with one arm. Through the corner of my eye I see a dark mass of fluff on the floor behind the entertainment center. I put her down and then stick my own head back there. My daughter seeing me do this assumes that it is indeed ok to go behind the entertainment center. I am blocking her off with my foot while trying to decide what the hell I am looking at.
It’s a mess, whatever it is. It is kind of stinks. This cannot be good. Nope, this is definitely not good as I realize that this mass of fluff has ears. And they are large ears to match the exceptionally large body that I realize I am now looking at.
It’s a fucking rabbit. It’s a fucking dead rabbit. It’s a fucking dead and mauled rabbit and one of my dumb ass pets stashed it behind the entertainment center. I swear to you it was 20 pounds if it was an ounce. The fur of this thing is torn apart but the guts don’t appear to be leaking anywhere. That is about the only good thing I can think of regarding this. I have two questions now: Did Little Hoss touch it and which animal is going to get kicked.
There is only one pet that I have that would do this. I turn around to rush Little Hoss to the bathtub for a massive de-lousing, prison style, when my cat steps out into my path. The creepy little bastard just sits down and stares at me. Clarence the Cat is not moving an inch. He’s not making any sound. In fact, he’s doing nothing at all but looking at me.
My cat is psychotic. He is schizophrenic. You think he is a nice cat who wants to be petted until you actually try and pet him. Then he takes off while you trip over your feet trying to reach him. My daughter loves him. I find him a little scary. What the hell is he thinking? Is he plotting my doom? And why the hell is he just sitting there staring at me. I’m afraid to throw a kick his way because he would dart out of the way and sever my Achilles tendon. He would then do a little Reservoir dogs on my ear while playing creepy cat music.
Seriously, he scares me a little. He acts innocent but I think it is all bullshit. This isn’t the first time he has killed. He is the John Wayne Gasey of neighborhood rodents. Most of the time I’m happy about this as he keeps my house and yard free of disease spewing varmints. But he seems to take just a little to much pleasure in his job around the house. He may be Luci Brazi, but I doubt I would get that kind of loyalty out of him.
After taking a wide berth around my cat I throw Little Hoss in the tub to scrub off the bubonic plague that I am sure she has. She was not happy but sometimes you have to pay the price for not listening to pops. I get her dressed again and I have every intention of going downstairs and getting ride of the crime scene behind the entertainment center.
But then my wife comes home and I have to make a hard choice. It’s a hard choice but being superdad isn’t about taking the easy route. I can either tell my wife that there is a dead rabbit behind the entertainment center or I can play dumb and pick it up when she goes to bed, none the wiser.
I decided to go with option B, leave it until she goes to bed. My wife is 9 months pregnant. You also have to understand that my wife is not very “outdoorsy”. Bugs, wildlife and sharks. That is what terrifies her when she goes outside. That SNL skit about Land Sharks--her worst fear. Her version of camping is staying in a hotel that is 20 miles from any actual campsite.
This is what will happen if I tell her that there is a dead mutant rabbit behind the entertainment center. 1. She will scream really, really loud. 2. Her water will break and she will go into uncontrolled labor. 3. She will get in the car and never return. 4. The rabbit will come back to life as a zombie rabbit and attempt to eat my brains like a cabbage. Maybe not all of that but it would make a kick ass movie.
So I say nothing. I am the model of silence.
“Hey honey, what’s going on” she says.
“Theres no dead rabbit behind the entertainment center.” I mumble.
“Nothing, lets have dinner.” I say.
And off to dinner I go and the secret stays with me. She went to bed and I cleaned up the Satan worshiping alter that my cat used. And the cat stood there while I did it. Seriously, he is starting to freak me out.
My wife doesn’t know any of this until she gets to this blog. If you hear a scream outside, it’s probably my wife. Sometimes marriages need secrets.