The Piñata of Doom

08Apr08

I will never forget my first day of wedded mortification.
We got married at the ripe old age of 20, so people weren’t quite sure whether we were ready to tackle adult topics or not, even though we assured them we were. Apparently not!

Like everyone, we we spent the first night after our wedding in a hotel. The next day we were leaving for our “official honeymoon” to the glamorous and exotic Galveston Island, and we stopped by Tim’s parents’ house to pick up a few gifts and household items before we left. There were lots of out-of-town guests still lingering around, and frankly I didn’t even want to go into the house.

“They’ll know we had sex!” I practically whispered, even though we were still out in the car.
Tim laughed, “Uh…yeah… so? We ARE married.”
“Well, I’m not going in.” I said.
(Tim rolls eyes…) “Oh, come on! No one is going to say anything!”
“Yeah, but they’ll be thinking it.”
“Well, they can think what they want. Come on, honey. You can’t hide out here forever.”

I gave a big sigh. “Fine.” I can do this…I told myself.

Tim got our bag out of the back of the car. However, it was one of those convenient hanging bags where the pocket is upside down when you fold it over and carry it on your shoulder. And… that ginormous pocket was not zipped up.

We walked into a full and jovial living room, but the laughter died as Tim made a his cheerful but completely oblivious bee-line through the middle of it. Every step he took bumped the bag and with each bump of the bag, another embarrassing item fell to the ground leaving a trail of sex paraphenalia for me to scoop off the floor, like a piñata of doom. First there was a red push up bra, then the matching thong panties, then a whole slew of condoms, a diaphragm, a two-day sponge, spermicide, ky jelly, pills, and yes, a gift of edible underwear. Every time he dropped another item, I said, “Oops!” and avoided eye contact as I tried to scoop up the item before anyone saw what it was and quickly stuff it into my shirt.
Of course, what better way to draw attention to yourself than this?

We made it into the bedroom before I burst into tears, vowing I was never, ever returning to this house as long as I lived. Tim still didn’t know what he’d done, and said, “Honey, no one even said anything…”

“Do you not hear them all laughing out there?! You dropped ALL this on the floor, one by one as you walked back here,” I shrieked, dumping out the contents of my shirt.
Now it was his turn, “Oops.”

Less than twenty-four hours of marital bliss….
We’re still learning to handle our foibles with grace and dignity, but I guess if we never do get to a place of quiet dignity, I’d best learn not to take myself so seriously.

© AmyinDallas, 2007-2008

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