For those of you who don’t know, I knew Alex almost three months when we got married. I have heard so many people tell us that it would never last because we hardly knew each other, and I had a lot of people making bets on when I was due because they were certain I was pregnant.
It’s been nearly three years since we got married, and I have not given birth. So those of you who made bets on my due date, pay up, because I didn’t have a baby. Nor was I pregnant when I got married.
I do have to say this for sure though: I knew that no matter what happened, we could work through it. Unless it was cheating, then he could go jump off a bridge.
But he’s never cheated, and neither have I. So any problem we can work through.
The reason I can say that though, is because of what happened about two and a half weeks after we started dating.
At that point I was basically living in his dorm room on base. From our second date on, we were never apart . He would come to my work and borrow my car (he had no vehicle at the time since he had just gotten stationed in Alaska), he would buy my groceries since he found out that I was living off of Ramen and Chili (sometimes I’d cook a roast in my crock pot if the meat was on sale, or cook something else for my roommates since I loved to experiment), and then he’d fill my gas tank since I would fill my tank every few days, then he’d pick me up from work and I’d spend the night at his dorm. It was a great set up.
After dating for a couple weeks, I got a bladder infection. It was painful and if you are unaware of how bladder infections work, you sometimes have issues controlling your bladder.
Never, since I was about four years old, had I wet the bed.
Since Murphey’s law states that anything can happen whenever you don’t want it to happen, such as I didn’t want to wet the bed when I was falling head over heels with the potential father of my future children because he’d probably think “Oh hell no, I am not staying with a girl who is going to pee on me whenever she gets the chance.”
So of course I wet the bed.
And of course it wasn’t a little. Oh no, Murphey’s law had to ensure that I drank close to a gallon of water the night before and peed enough to fill a gorge.
And it had to be when I was laying sandwiched between the wall and Alex on a full size bed.
And Alex had his arms wrapped around me in a death grip.
And I think I peed on him a little.
As you can imagine, I was in a state of horror.
Since it was around 6 in the morning, I figured he’d be too tired to wake up to my sneaking off to the bathroom to clean up a little bit. So I’m then in the bathroom, coming up with a plan.
After about ten minutes, I decided that I’d roll him out of bed, covering up the spot, tell him that I got my period and bled on his sheets and I needed him to take my car to the shoppette to get me tampons while I threw his sheets in the washer and removed any traces of my having wet the bed.
I was pretty proud of myself considering how complex this plan was.
So I walked out of the bathroom, my head held high, ready to execute my brilliant plan.
When I walk into the bedroom, he had already finished stripping the sheets off the bed and put them in the clothes basket.
I felt my cheeks turn red, and my eyes tear up from embarrassment. He didn’t say anything. I took the basket and put the clothes in the washer, trying to hide my tears.
I get back to the room and he has the window open and has used half a bottle of febreeze.
“See? Nothing’s wrong. Everything is fixed. Nothing happened.”
Except that I’m highly allergic to febreeze, so my wind pipe started to close up.
“There! I fixed it! Nothing happened! We’re good!” he tells me, to which I’m trying to get the few words out that I can. I think he thought I was going to burst into tears from embarrassment. The next words I spoke completely caught him off guard.
“I’m deathly allergic to febreeze!”
His face pales, he shoves me out of the room, giving me my shoes and socks and he finishes getting dressed. He meets me in the hallway of his dorm room.
“So uh, lets go get some breakfast.”
It was true love.
He didn’t give me any grief.
He told no one.
And most of all, he didn’t dump me over it.
I knew from that moment on, I was going to marry him.
All because my bladder is an asshole.
So have any of you had an experience where you were sure that your boyfriend or girlfriend was going to dump you and nothing came of it? Or something so embarrassing that it took you three years to be able to tell anyone?
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