Our Marriage: Slap Stick Comedy? Vaudeville Act? Or a Warped Kind of Love?

I met my husband when I was 17; he was 21 and much more knowledgeable in the ways of the world. In 1980 the mind of a young lady remained innocent, at least mine. Unfortunately, in my naivety, Randy and I often resembled an old fashion comedy show, think Lucy and Ricky Ricardo. If you are under the age of 40, an internet search will provide enlightenment and a chuckle. I am the straight man; he is the comic. I am the Dean Martin to his Jerry Lewis. He is the Lou Costello to my Bud Abbott. Often, my role leaves me looking foolish, but we are always laughing.

The first time Randy took the time to explain a punch line to me, I knew he was a keeper. We sat in a bar listening to a friend tell a joke. This is the abbreviated version.

After noticing a tattoo on the guy’s penis at the urinal next to him, he exclaimed, “Hey, I have the same tattoo, ‘Wendy!’ Is that your girlfriend’s name too?” The man looked at the other and said, “No man, my tattoo says, ‘Welcome to Jamaica Have a Nice Day’. Everyone at the table laughed — except me. I suppose my befuddled look exposed my ignorance.

Randy explained it to me in a way that my innocent mind might understand. He asked me to picture a balloon with writing on it before it is inflated, stressing the tiny size of the lettering that makes it difficult if not impossible to read. I nodded. Then he reminded me that when the balloon became inflated the letters expanded and the words could be deciphered. I nodded.

As I waited for the rest of the explanation, not so patiently and feeling I had missed something, the crowd at the table laughed hysterically. Randy’s expression looked exasperated when he realized he would have to expand his explanation - no pun intended. He proceeded to draw the similarity between the balloon and the male anatomy recognizing my understanding when my face turned red.

Over time, life lessons and some experiences increased my awareness. Randy proved a patient and talented teacher. However, my learning curve remained steep and our comedy routines were forever emerging.

Shortly after we were married, we adopted a small dog. While on a camping trip with a lot of friends, I carried our dog to my husband gravely concerned because Waldo, our Yorkie, had developed a large lump on his underbelly. Randy felt around and brushed me aside assuring me that nothing was medically wrong. Not to be deterred, I approached an older man assuming he would know more than my young husband and asked if he knew what the lump might be. He smirked and echoed my husband’s response. Never one to be pushed aside, my inquiries persisted.

By the afternoon, Randy decided it better to explain the issue instead of allowing me to continue questioning acquaintances to feel what I now know was my dog’s erection. He explained that male dog are similar to male humans. I nodded. Apparently, a couple in our group had a female dog who was in heat and produced the uncomfortable effect on poor Waldo. Again, my face colored and I turned away to take our pup on a long walk away from the snickers. Needless to say, 40+ years later I still get reminded of that incident.

So, when our daughters where born, I made a point to give them the education that I never had - in retrospect it still was quite limited. One day I brought home a children’s book from the library to explain the human anatomy. Following the directions, our family sat in a circle and read it aloud. With each new vocabulary word, we chanted three times in unison: penis, penis, penis; vagina, vagina, vagina and so forth. That’s what the book told us to do. Now whenever I think about how serious I approached this exercise and reflect on my dear husband’s freaked out face, I can’t control my laughter.

My serious approach to the anatomy exercise contrasts his approach to life and probably prompted him to teach our daughters the Weeny Whack song. At the end of a meal in a restaurant, I excused myself to the lady’s room. I wasn’t gone that long! When I returned, the girls were so excited to share the song Daddy had taught them. They sang to the tune of the old classic, The Lion Sleeps Tonight.

In the bedroom, the quiet bedroom

John Bobbitt sleeps tonight

In the kitchen, the quiet kitchen

Lorena grabs a knife

A weenie whack whack-a-whack

A weenie whack whack-a-whack

Being children and proud of their production, they sang loud enough that near-by eavesdroppers heard. Randy later defended his action by explaining he simply shared the day's news with the children. I suddenly remembered something I had left in the bathroom, my dignity, and quickly exited the dinning area.

To be fair guys have more experience with this stuff. Little boys start in elementary school drawing pictures of penises. Just the other day, when I walked to school to meet my granddaughter a rock beside the path proudly displayed a drawing of a penis. By the time they reach middle school, teenage boys’ skills of drawing a penis advanced to an art form. I should know because as a middle school English teacher, not a copy of the classroom anthology existed without a over-sized penis doodled somewhere among the short stories.

Even my husband who teaches high school, admits his students often allow their heads to control decisions more than their brains. He enjoys sharing a story about a meeting he hosted with community members from industry. When he needed to share a graphic, he chose to use the overhead projector and the screen rolled up, attached to the wall in the front of the room. As he pulled down the screen, it unrolled to expose a deviously drawn penis. Fortunately, all the guests were male and completely understood.

Through our marriage, the jokes have never stopped and neither has the laughter. The motto we live by is if you can’t laugh with them, laugh at them. Unfortunately, I still play the straight man too often in our relationship. Especially, the time I woke Randy up and asked him to sit with me because I experienced chest pains. He insisted we immediately go to the hospital. I resisted but he responded, “We are going. This would give new meaning to waking up with a stiff one.”

I understood the joke this time without needing an explanation, and we went to the hospital.

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Since retiring, I travel and write. You can join Vocal Media for free to read more. Vocal is an online magazine.

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