I was a newlywed and determined to be the best wife that had ever walked the aisle. I’m like that, though. When I started running, I read every running book published in the last 10 years, took ice baths after 5k runs, iced my knees after every run even though they’ve never been sore, not once! I even went to my doctor and had my heart checked, you know the test that requires you to walk around for 3 days with sticky tabs and wires attached to various parts of you?! All because I had signed up for a 5k race!!!
So, you guys, here I was, a wife! this would surely require some special attention. The kind that Good Housekeeping magazine liked to feature. Said magazine had also showed me how to make paper weights by wrapping rocks in tin foil. Nothing says elegance like rocks covered in tin foil! I tried their advice to use husband’s old shaving cream lids as eggcups, but I couldn’t get used to deodorized eggs, especially first thing in the morning! Many of the hints included ways to be a good wife. A few of the ones I specifically remember:
- Shape your meatloaf into matching boobs, it will drive him crazy! One boob was gone before he even noticed. Worse yet, he thought it was a hubcap.
- Don’t greet him with complaints and problems. Yeah right.
- Wave good-bye as he leaves for work each day. I ACTUALLY DID THIS. I WAS WEIRD.
- Wrap yourself in Saran Wrap and greet him at the door. WHO DOES THIS????
I WAS WEIRD.
I also had matching shoes for every one of my outfits. Red shoes for the red dress, green for the green one, and so on. Roosters of every sort bordered my kitchen walls and woollen cozys covered the kettle, toaster and every kleenex box in the house. Like I said. Weird.
And that’s how I ended up naked on the kitchen floor one sunny Monday afternoon surrounded by 6 boxes of saran wrap! It was noon and husband would be home by 5. I planned on being wrapped by 2 which would still give me plenty of time to make dinner. I decided to start at my ankles and work upward. After wrapping three layers up to each of my knees, which took almost an hour I could still see through?! Not realizing this was exactly the point-that husband could see through and feast upon the beauty of my nakedness- I wrapped five more layers until it was perfectly opaque- not able to be seen through. For some very blonde reason, I thought the purpose of this was the unwrapping! And in my excitement to be wrapped perfectly, I forgot that it was supposed to be see-through. Hence, THE SARAN WRAP!!!
IF IT WAS JUST THE “UNWRAPPING”, I COULD HAVE USED TOWELS OR SCARVES OR GARBAGE BAGS OR PLAIN ‘OLE FREAKIN’ TOILET PAPER!!!
And it would have been a heck of a lot easier.
By now I was sweating and a little panicked that it had already taken almost two hours. Concerned about the waste, also because we were poor, I had saved quite a bit by getting the saran at the dollar store.
It was taking forever just to find the end every time I wrapped and ripped. And tear off evenly? Not a chance. I ended up using the scissors a very time-intensive method to cut every piece instead of a quick rip! It was 3pm – 2 hours from showtime – and I was ready to wrap my butt and vajayjay and hips and all that good stuff. But I would need to stand for this part. There was only one problem.
I HAD WRAPPED MY KNEES WHILE MY LEGS WERE EXTENDED STRAIGHT OUT!!!
They were now locked in a saran wrap cast and absolutely refused to bend. I was starting to feel desperate, time was running out! In a seated position, I dragged my useless legs across the kitchen, reached up to the countertop and with Superman strength pulled myself up. This was the moment when I realized the kitchen window faced the parking lot for our building. We were one floor below ground level so anyone in the parking lot could see down into our kitchen. Where I had writhed and wrapped and rolled and slithered for the last couple of hours!!! I jerked the venetian blinds down, prayed for redemption, And got back to work.
I finished off the fourth roll of saran on my hips and butt, pulling a bit tighter to make all those parts look justalittlebitsmaller. 4 o’clock and time for belly and boobs! I decided for the next hour to alternate between making dinner and wrapping so I filled the pot with water to boil the noodles.
The running water reminded my bladder that I hadn’t peed in about 5 hours. To this day, I pee every half hour and that’s if I hold it a bit. Now the urge was immediate AND immediately at a critical stage! I lurched from side to side on my locked-knee legs to the bathroom where I remembered that I had not left a peehole in case I needed to go! You should try ripping apart 6 layers of cheap saran wrap under emergency conditions. SWEET MARY MOTHER OF GOD HELP MEEEE!!!
I finally managed to separate a small hole in the saran wrap Ouch! Brazilians weren’t in style then! and stood, hands against the wall, exhausted, peeing man-fashion into the toilet. At least half of it went in other directions, but I was too panicked to care. And OMG it felt so good! I dried off my plastic-covered legs with a towel which I hid in the cupboard under the sink. And lurched wildly back to the kitchen where the pot of water had boiled dry and the fire alarm was wailing! There was no way in hell I was gonna’ make it on top of a chair to turn off the alarm. So I threw a banana, leaving it hanging in three pieces from the ceiling! Silently. THANKS BE TO JESUS!!!
I now had half an hour to wrap myself from the waist up and there was no time to make dinner. I managed to cover the rest of me except my right arm because once the left was wrapped –I forget to bend my elbow- it was too stiff to wrap the other. I didn’t swear back in those days EVER, but I’m pretty sure by now this was what I was thinking:
This would be a fucking one-sleeved saran fucking wrap pantsuit! And husband fucking better like it!!! I regret having to use the f-bombs but at this point they are actually grammatically necessary! Let’s get real-even the best of us think this word every now and then!! With my stiff still slightly damp leg, I kicked the empty boxes and rolls under the couch cause I couldn’t bend down to pick them up, slipped into heels green ones, lit some candles, and waited to hear husband on the stairs.
He swung open the door to me standing stiffly in wet, thick layers of saran wrap more mummy-like than a sex siren, hair soaked in sweat, green heels, smelling a bit like pee. And what does husband do?! He laughs. hysterically.
And the moral of this story?
- There’s a reason everything in a dollar store only costs a buck.
- Wax your vajayjay for chrissakes!
- Green heels should be illegal. period.
- It takes 5 hours to wrap yourself in saran and 10 hours to unwrap it.
- Sexy saran costumes are not what your marriage needs. I’m divorced.
- Saran is for leftovers.
And that, you guys, is a wrap!
Happy Halloween! What are you “going to be”?!