I don’t like taking pills. If I have a headache, I will endure the pain. If I have cramps, I’d rather hurt all day than pop a Midol. If I’m constipated, I’ll wait it out even if it takes a few days to pass a rock. I know the benefits of taking a stool softener; it gets rid of the feeling that you’re carrying a 6lb turd baby in your lower intestines, and it prevents anal tears when birthing the turd baby, yet I still choose to suffer because I’m too stubborn to take a pill.
I had been constipated the last few days: the usual stuffing my face with too much meat and not drinking enough water. My farts were horrendous. They were so bad that even I had to leave the room after I let one rip. I’ve never seen my husband cry, but I think I saw tears in his eyes when I sneaked one under the covers last night. He begged me to take a stool softener. I refused the first few pleas, but I felt sorry for the guy. We were already in bed, and I was worried I’d accidentally soil the sheets. He assured me it’d take 12 hours to work. Being the sweet wife I am, I swallowed the damn pill to shut his whining and went back to sleep. That lying bastard, within 20 minutes I was running to the toilet and having a Dumb and Dumber moment. It was coming out in unpredictable waves. When I thought it was safe to wipe, my ass would turn into chocolate fondue. I couldn’t stop pooping. Completely emptying my bowels usually brings me great joy, but all I wanted to do was sleep. By the time I went back to bed 30 minutes later, my husband was out cold. And being the sweet wife I am, I let him sleep peacefully.
I woke up early this morning searching for vengeance in the fridge. I found it in the form of cheese and a glass of milk. The dairy worked its way down my empty bowels quickly. I quietly slipped back into bed, and being the sweet wife I am I kissed him on the cheek and then I farted on him and pulled the covers over his head. Revenge smells sweet.