He leans up on one elbow and glares at me.
“Really? I had it coming? Having a toilet seat covered in piss chucked at my head at three o’clock in the morning was not necessary.”
Grabbing the sheet tangled around my thighs, I angrily yank it up to my chest, refusing to let him stare at my boobs for one second longer if he’s going to be like this.
“And I’m pretty sure I followed the rules,” he continues. “I never ONCE left the toilet seat up and you should be thanking me that I was so considerate!”
I scoff at him, crossing my arms over my chest to hold the sheet in place.
“Oh, I see how it is!” I fire back. “Just because I didn’t get an ass bath in the toilet bowl in the middle of the night, you think you deserve a medal. That’s not how this works. That’s not how ANY of this works!”
I realize I’m picking a fight with him over something stupid that happened a month ago, but I can’t help it. Fighting about this is much better than screaming at him, “I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY YOUR PENIS CAN’T DO WHAT IT WAS PUT ON THIS EARTH TO DO!”.
Moving into Sam’s house with him after we got engaged and learning how to cohabitate was surprisingly easy. He never left wet towels on the floor after his shower, he didn’t leave dirty dishes in the sink, he always put a new roll of toilet paper on the holder when we ran out, and he didn’t squeeze the toothpaste from the middle of the tube like some sort of terrorist. And fine, so he never left the toilet seat up after peeing, forcing me to stumble into the bathroom in the middle of the night half asleep and then fall down into the bowl. The first time I found out about his one little bad habit, I nicely asked him to stop doing it. After the fifth request, I started leaving him notes written on Post-its, stuck to the bathroom mirror so he’d see them when he got up before me for work. I will admit, the post-it notes escalated to an unhealthy level, but he STILL didn’t do what I asked, so he can’t blame me for anything that happened after.
Good morning! Could you please remember to do what I asked? xo -Noel
You did it again. PLEASE, for the love of GOD, stop. xo -Noel
I swear to Christ, if you do it one more time, I will stab you in your sleep. –Noel
Seriously? Again? Just for that, I used your toothbrush to untangle my pubic hairs. You’re welcome.
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME WITH THIS SHIT? I poisoned something in the fridge. Good luck trying to figure out what it is.
“I had nightmares about those Post-it notes for a week!” he yells back. “And I had to throw away all the food in the fridge!”
“It’s not my fault you couldn’t listen to one simple direction!”
I really wish I could stop the words that are coming out of my mouth, but again, it’s much better than the alternative. Sure, he doesn’t leave the toilet seat up, but what he does is soooooooo much worse. Granted, it probably wouldn’t have gotten to the level it did without a little help from me, but still.
Sam, bless his heart, always puts the toilet seat down. Along with the TOILET SEAT COVER. Now, I’m sure you’re probably saying to yourself, “Awwww, what a sweet guy!”. You go right ahead and keep telling yourself that until the night you come stumbling into the bathroom half asleep, pull your underwear down, and flop your naked ass on top of the freezing cold toilet seat cover. Sure, it’s better than landing in the actual bowl, but nothing is better and everything sucks at three A.M.
Deciding to pay him back, I returned the favor after I finished going to the bathroom, not even realizing that most men don’t sit down to pee. He didn’t get a cold shock of plastic toilet seat cover on his ass to jolt him awake, oh no. He just stood in the bathroom with the light off and proceeded to pee all over the cover, which meant when I went into the bathroom next, I flopped my ass down on top of a cold, toilet seat cover SPLATTERED WITH PEE.
I did what any pissed off, half-asleep woman would do. I ripped the cover from the toilet, marched into the bedroom, and chucked it at his head. Really, it’s his fault for having such a shoddy toilet seat cover that was so easy to rip off.
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY IT’S SO HARD TO LIFT THE COVER BEFORE YOU PEE!” he shouts.
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU HAVE TO BE SUCH A TOILET-SEAT-COVER-PEEING STUPID PEEING HEADED PEE’ER!” I scream back, rolling angrily out of bed and yanking the sheet off of his body to take it with me. “NO SHEET FOR YOU, PISSY MCPISSERSON FROM THE CITY OF PISSVILLE IN THE STATE OF TOILET SEAT COVER PISS!”
This is why I will never win any argument I ever have with someone, especially an argument I’m picking just to avoid the real problem. I don’t have the ability to say intelligent, though-provoking things to make my case. I will just word vomit stupid shit, thereby giving him the upper hand to assume he’s right.
Moving around the foot of the bed while fumbling to try and wrap the sheet around my body, I stomp across the room and into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind me, but not before he gets the last word.
“I JERKED OFF INTO ONE OF YOUR BOTTLES OF LOTION, SHAMPOO, OR CONDINTIONER! GOOD LUCK TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHICH ONE!”
“At least you’re jerking off into something!” I whisper irritably.
Don’t worry, it was under my breath. I’m not a complete asshole.
Feeling a headache coming on from clenching my teeth during the fifteen minutes of dry thrusting, along with the stupid pee fight, I open the medicine cabinet to grab some Tylenol, when a prescription bottle with Sam’s name on it catches my eye.
I hear the muffled sound of the television turning on in our bedroom and quickly grab the bottle that wasn’t here yesterday, my eyes widening and my jaw dropping when I see the date the prescription was issued, as well as the side effects.
Suddenly, having a cold, pee-covered ass doesn’t seem like such a big deal anymore.
2
Spit the Spooge
Sam
“Jesus, man, pull yourself together,” I mutter, stopping in the middle of my best friend Alex’s living room to stare at him in disgust.
After he’d called off of work for the last three days and hadn’t answered any of my phone calls or texts, I let myself into his apartment with the spare key he’d given me, to make sure he was okay. A decision I’m seriously regretting now that I see he’s still alive and can only imagine what he’s been doing with himself the last few days. Or not doing with himself, considering the smell that burns my nose, what looks like dried hot wing sauce stuck to his cheeks and piles of empty pizza boxes, crumpled up potato chip bags, and about a hundred beer bottles littering the floor around his recliner where it looks like he hasn’t moved in days.
“Dude, is that a stack of chicken wing bones in your lap?” I ask, afraid to move from where I’m standing to get a closer look in case I step in something that might give me Hepatitis or make me vomit.
Or, step in actual vomit.
“Did you know BW3’s now delivers wings?” Alex asks in between patheticsniffles as he stares at the television mounted on the wall across from him. “I mean, technically they don’t deliver, but I told Lenny he could have my PlayStation 4 if he stopped and picked up a dozen hot wings on his way over here.”
Leaning over to the window next to him, I open the blinds to let in some sunlight, regretting that decision even more than the one to come over here.
“Are you crying? And who the hell is Lenny?” I ask, wiping my hands on the front of my jeans, not wanting to even think about why opening the blinds made my hands sticky.
“Lenny is the pizza delivery guy for Dominos. He’s in a band and his mom doesn’t even care if he has a chick spend the night in his room in the basement. He’s got his whole life together and look at me? I have nothing,” Alex states, sniffling again as he aims the remote at the TV and rewinds the movie he’s watching back a couple of minutes. “This scene gets me every time.”
Sucking it up, I walk toward him, avoiding the unfolded piece of newspaper covering up God knows what on the floor, snatch the remote out
of his hand, and turn off the TV.
“Hey! I was watching that!” Alex complains, finally looking up at me. “It’s The Way We Were with Barbara Streisand and Robert Redford!”
With a sigh, I toss the remote over to the couch and out of his reach. When Alex hadn’t shown up for work and I couldn’t get ahold of him, I casually mentioned it to Noel and found out Scheva had broken up with him. In a text. Three days ago. I figured he would be a little down in the dumps considering Noel’s best friend is the first girlfriend he’s had that lasted more than one night and they professed their love for each other on Valentine’s Day, never spending longer than a few hours apart since then. I did NOT expect to show up here and find an entire apartment filled with multiple science experiments and Alex eating away his pain while watching some stupid chick movie.
“Look, I know you’re upset about Scheva—”
“NOOOOOOOOOOO!” he screams, interrupting me. “NEVER SPEAK HER NAME IN MY PRESENCE AGAIN! SHE’S DEAD TO ME!”
I sigh and shake my head at him, pulling my phone out of my back pocket when it dings with an incoming text. Alex vaults out of the recliner, spilling chicken wing bones all over the floor, and tripping over empty beer bottles as he charges me, grabbing onto my arms and shaking me.
“Is it her? Is it Scheva? What did she say? Is she sorry? Does she want me back? Tell her I love her and I forgive her!” he rambles, using the sleeve of his already filthy shirt to wipe some of the wing sauce from his face.
“No, it was from Noel. You need to get your shit together, right the fuck now!” I yell at him. “She sent me a text to remind me we have an appointment to get fitted for our tuxes and I am not taking you there smelling like regurgitated pizza and stale beer.”
Alex is my best friend and I know I should be more supportive and understanding, but I don’t have time for this right now. I’ve got more important things to worry about like trying not to fight with Noel about stupid shit a month before our wedding because my God damn dick doesn’t feel like cooperating, and I’d rather argue about The Toilet Seat Cover Incident of 2016 over and over again instead of talking about the real issue. It’s embarrassing. It’s pathetic. It’s turning me into a crazy person and making me worry that Noel is going to change her mind about marrying a guy who has no problem getting it up, but can’t finish the deed.
“Stop yelling at me, I’m in a really emotional place right now!” Alex whines, lifting his arm and taking a whiff, then dry heaving when he gets a smell of himself. “Okay, you’re right. I could probably use a shower. And when I’m done, we’re going to sit down and have a nice little chat about what’s bothering you. According to Dr. Phil, you should never take out your own anger and frustrations on someone else.”
Grabbing a towel from the pile in the laundry basket by the wall, that may or may not be clean, I throw it at his face.
“Just get in the damn shower already. I’m hiding your remote. You’re never allowed to watch daytime television or the Lifetime channel again.”
“I’d give you a hug, but I’m honestly concerned my hotness would finally push you over the edge and you’d come in your pants, crossing a line in our relationship that can never be uncrossed,” Alex smirks as he stares at himself in the full-length mirror at the tux shop.
“You’re an asshole. I can’t believe I thought it was a good idea to confide in you,” I complain while he does up his tie.
I couldn’t take one more second of Alex rereading the text Scheva sent him the other day, so I broke down on the ride over here and told him what’s been happening with me and Noel. It was the only way I could get him to stop repeating, “I need a break. I’m sorry. It’s not you, it’s me,” before I swerved the car into oncoming traffic just to put myself out of my misery. Interrupting him after the twenty-seventh time to scream, “MY DICK IS BROKEN, EVERYTHING HURTS, AND NOTHING WILL EVER BE GOOD AGAIN!” wasn’t very wise, but it shut him up. Until now, after he had the rest of the car ride to come up with plenty of ways to bust my balls. Pun not intended…stupid balls.
“Seriously, look at me,” Alex demands, turning around to face me with his arms out to the side. “I’m a stud. It’s okay to admit how hot I look in this thing. I won’t tell Noel that you think I’m hotter than she is.”
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and put my head in my hands.
“That’s not even funny. Noel thinks that’s seriously the reason why I’ve been having problems. She’s gorgeous. She’s sexy as hell and there isn’t one second in my day that I don’t spend thinking about having sex with her. Noel is not the problem.”
Alex turns back to face the mirror, messing with his hair and buttoning up the vest under his tux jacket.
“Clearly Noel isn’t the problem. There isn’t one second in my day I don’t spend thinking about having sex with your future bride. You’re probably jerking off too much. Your balls are so empty I bet you can hear them gasping for breath every time you take your pants off,” he tells me.
“I’m not jerking off too much,” I complain with a roll of my eyes. “I’m pretty sure I know what the problem is, we just always seem to start fighting before I can talk to her about it.”
“I once jerked off so much in one week that I got calluses. That was a great week. Want to see a picture?” he asks, grabbing his phone from the chair next to the mirror.
“Fuck no, I don’t want to see a picture of your blistered dick!” I reply back in horror, averting my eyes when he walks toward me holding the screen of his phone out in front of him.
“Stop being such a pussy! It’s a picture of the blisters on my hand, you sick fucker!”
“Um, excuse me, is everything okay here? How does the tux fit?” Katie, the seamstress of the shop asks, suddenly appearing next to us with a concerned look on her face.
“We’re fine, everything’s fine and no I’m not showing him a dick pic,” Alex informs her, turning his head to look her up and down before giving her a smile. “How about you? How do you feel about dick pics? I’m not saying I have a couple hundred on my phone right now, but if I did, how would you feel about them?”
With a groan, I stand up and snatch the phone out of his hand, shoving it in my back pocket.
“Sorry, his girlfriend just dumped him and he’s gone a little insane,” I explain to the poor woman who looks like she’s about ready to kick both of us out of here.
“Yeah? Well at least my balls aren’t suffocating from overuse and I can shoot my load in, on, and around anything I want at any time, thank you very much!” he argues back, looking away from me to smile at Katie again.
“Hey, you’re a woman,” he muses, tapping his finger against his chin.
“Thanks for noticing,” she deadpans.
“I mean, you’re a woman, so maybe you can help my friend out with his problem,” he explains.
“What the hell are you doing? I’m not having sex with some stranger a month before I get married. And it’s not a problem, it’s just a minor setback,” I whisper in irritation.
“Get your head out of the gutter, Sir Never-Cums-A-Lot. I’m just asking her opinion. So tell me, Katie, let’s say you’ve been dating a guy for a few months, you’re madly in love and all of a sudden, he loses the ability to close the deal during sex. Not for you, just for him. What’s your take on that?” Alex asks her while I stand here wishing he would have choked on a chicken bone.
Katie shrugs, probably realizing it’s easier to humor him than run away screaming and call the cops. “I’d probably assume he’s cheating on me. Or that I don’t turn him on anymore.”
I groan and Alex holds his hand up, waiting for her to give him a high five. She stares at his hand for a few seconds before turning and walking away, disappearing in the back room, probably to call everyone she knows and tell them she’s decided to become a lesbian.
“You’re welcome,” Alex tells me, brushing imaginary lint off of his shoulders.
“I don’t remember thanking you for be
ing an asshole. Now I have to worry about Katie taking out her anger at your stupidity by ordering a bunch of powder blue leisure suits instead of the black tuxes with red vests and ties like Noel wants,” I inform him.
“You can thank me for polling the audience and getting a unanimous response about your dick dysfunction. You can’t spit the spooge because you’re too busy thinking about Noel thinking about not being hot enough to help you cross the finish line,” he explains. “So, stop thinking about Noel thinking about those things. Problem solved.”
With a shake of my head, I turn and walk away from him to send Noel a text to let her know we’re almost finished and I’ll meet her at her parent’s house for dinner within the hour. Her mother wants to go over the guest list, and even though I refuse to admit that anything Alex said is right, maybe I just need to stop worrying so much. Noel already knows she’s not the problem, I’ve told her a hundred times. I’m sure she’s not freaking out about this as much as I am, anyway.
3
Mister Ed
Noel
“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, I’m totally freaking out right now!” I screech hysterically to Scheva as she closes my parents front door behind her.
“Will you calm the fuck down? It’s not that big of a deal,” she complains with a roll of her eyes as I thrust the prescription bottle in her face.
“Not a big deal? NOT A BIG DEAL? This is definitely a big deal! Did you not read what it says on this bottle?”
She grabs it from my hands, yanks my purse off of my shoulder, and shoves the pills inside.
“Yes, I read what it says, and I also listened to you read it eight hundred times on the way over. It’s blood pressure medication, Noel. Aren’t you happy that you finally have a valid reason for his problem after all these weeks? Side effects may include a change in blood sugar, loss of appetite, headache, nausea, vomiting, leg discomfort, and problems with sexual performance,” she reminds me, rattling off the side effects listed on the bottle like a voice-over on a commercial. “There you go, problem solved.”