I Just Know I Was Adopted!

Yep it's true - I work in a sweat shop and I just love it! How interesting; three degrees and a white collar brain who loves to do blue collar jobs. My parents would just shit their, ever so white, sheets if they knew I unloaded semi's for a living now! I was raised in an upper middle class, very prejudice environment by two people who should have never had children. Thank God I was an only child; the only one they could attempt to destroy and corrupt with their narrow minded thoughts and behaviors. I never wanted to have any children of my own; the yearning to be a mother and bear children never came over me, not even once. My wife, has her own theory about why I didn't. "Honey doodles, you are an intelligent woman and your childhood was complete hell..., so I think you subconsciously blocked your thoughts and feelings about having children so that you wouldn't have any chance of make the same mistakes that your parents did!" Hmm..., she just might be right on the money with that thought!

My father (sixth grade education) worked for the Federal Aviation Administration and was so dead set on advancing himself and his overly large ego (matching his undersized penis, I'm convinced) that we moved to a different city/state every two years. Yes..., I made friends..., left friends..., made new friends..., left new friends..., over and over and over for sixteen years. Finally, my narcissistic, bitch of a mother informed my ego ridden, agnostic, perfection demanding father, that she was not moving ever again. So he promptly applied for and received yet another promotion and left her sitting in a brand new, custom built house (because we sure as shit wouldn't want to live in anything that wasn't show-off-able, now would we!) And yes..., she was on the verge of having, yet another, nervous breakdown and he just didn't care. I got another promotion..., LOOK AT ME..., I'm a complete ass!

So..., off he went, as usual, and my mother and I packed and packed and packed everything that they owned so that the house could be sold and we could all move once more. Except, I refused to buy into the ego trek again. Instead, I finished my junior year at a small country school in Ardmore, Oklahoma and took the G.E.D. Then, what would have been my senior year in a brand new, huge high school in Oklahoma City, I began my six year college education. I attended two, very large universities in Texas and got my degrees, came out of the closet and spread my wings. Yes..., I knew I was a lesbian from a very, very early age; however, like everyone else in that part of the country, I hid behind one boyfriend after another until I came out. I enjoy the company of men and have several male friends. However, God made me a lesbian - my past encounters and life experiences did not! I have never had a sexual attraction to a man and have never slept with one..., I don't need to confirm something I already know in my heart.

Famous quotes from my mother:

"I think that gays and lesbians should only be allowed to adopt the retarded children that no one else wants!" (That is when I realized that I had to be adopted myself - this hateful woman couldn't possibly be my mother!)

"You are going to hell, P.J. - God and I don't love you anymore!" (That was hardly a threat because she didn't love me to begin with. Besides, I know I'm going to heaven and that God loves each and every one of us!)

"This is P.J." Heavy sigh and frown, "She's a lesbian!" (How many times was I introduced to doctors, friends, strangers at the grocery store, in this manner! Notice that she didn't say my daughter!)

"If I could have had you genetically altered at birth, I would have..., you know!"

Mother "Molly (her sister) told me today, that Rosie O. is a lesbian! And..., that there is nothing wrong with you, P.J. - and that God loves you because you are so sweet!" She cackles her sadistic cackle and takes a long drag off of her cigarette, "I don't believe a word Molly said. Besides, everyone knows Rosie O. is not a lesbian - she's so smart and funny!"

P.J. "Mom..., Rosie O. is a lesbian. She has been one, the whole time you have religiously watched her show and worshipped every word she said! Her wife's name is Kelli." (Trying very hard no to burst into laughter over the horrified look on her face.)

Mother "What! That means that I can't watch her show anymore!" She exclaimed.

P.J. "Why not?" (Knowing fully well that her answer would be some form of ludicrousness.)

Mother "She is probably sending out those hidden messages! You know..., trying to change other women and make them lesbians!" Screaming frantically, "Oh my God..., I've watched her show for years! I just loved (noticed the past tense on the word love) her!"

P.J. I shook my head from side to side, walked out the front door of their house (not home - house) and got into my truck. Thinking, why do I even come over here to check on my parents..., nothing is ever going to change..., I'm not even allowed to park in the driveway because someone might realize their lesbian daughter has come over to infect their house!

I remember one time I asked if my friend Paula could spend the night. "Sure!" Was the answer, "As long as you two are very quite and don't wake your father up." So..., Paula's parents arrived in our driveway about six o'clock that evening and I rushed out to meet them. I was ecstatic to have her spend the night - she was soooooo much fun and different from anyone I had ever met! I introduced myself to her parents, helped Paula grab her overnight stuff and promptly took her inside to meet my parents. My mother took one glimpse at my dear friend and stated, matter of fact, "I don't think so! We are taking her home..., right now!"

"Why? You said that she could spend the night? Did I do something wrong again?" I asked.
"She's black!" My mother foamed at the mouth and her light blue eyes glared at me. I was humiliated and my dear friend Paula was now in tears. And yes..., the car ride to her house was extremely painful, hurtful and embarrassing for the two young ladies. I apologized profusely for my mother's behavior, numerous times and Paula never spoke to me again. It never occurred to me that she was black. What caught my attention, is that she was smart, funny and cute, cute, cute!

Both of my parents demanded perfection from me. If I made anything less than an A+ on any of my school work or tests..., there was hell to pay. The quest for perfection started at a very early age and was so strong and severe that I ended up attending a school for children that couldn't fit in to regular school because of their behavior. After several days at the "special" school and numerous rounds of psychological counseling, it was determined that I was not the one in the family of three that had the problem. Both of my parents were told that due to their own lack of education, they were pushing me to achieve, achieve, achieve to the point that I could no longer function or behave like a regular little kid. I had become an adult in a seven year old body and no longer could relate to the other children in my class. They were also told that I had already surpassed them in intelligence - and I paid heavily for that bit of information..., heavily!

I ended up at the "special" school because I cried all day long when I was in class. When one of the other children would act up or receive a bad grade I would cry and cry because, I just knew they were going to be in big trouble when they got home. It never occurred to me, at that age, that my parents were psychotic. Not to mention that I would refuse to leave the classroom when school was out because I didn't want to go home. Not every little girl wants to inadvertently make her father so angry that he grabs her up, throws her against the wall next to her bed and waits for her to land on top of the mattress. Then..., makes her sit very still, on the side of her bed, without moving an inch, for hours and hours and hours at a time - so that she could think about what she had done! Well..., hell, I could think all I wanted to because, I never knew what I had done that made him so angry! It would just happen right out of the blue. All I really did was pray and pray that I would be able to hold my bladder until I was told that I could get up off of the bed!

Then, I became so frightened to go to school and potentially fail, that I would grab onto the door handles of the car and not let go until my father promised that I wouldn't have to attend that day. After months and months of crying and fear..., my dad took me to school in my pajamas, slung me by one arm into the classroom and slammed the door shut. That is when my teacher got involved and contacted my parents, who had no hesitation about giving her my psychologists phone number, so that maybe she could talk some sense into him. They talked alright..., and she did her best to built up my self confidence, reassure me that I was loved by her, that she would be there if I ever needed anything, etc.... She was no dummy - she knew that I was emotionally in trouble and that my parents were severely misguided. However; the trend continued all the way through high school.

My parents and I would sit down at the kitchen table, while I would attempt to explain why I got the answers incorrect on a quiz or test. Then I would be forced to come up with some reason (none of which were ever valid) as to why I didn't know the answer. Then..., I would sit there and study for hours on end while my mom watched some bullshit show on TV and my dad would shower and go to bed. Before I went to bed, myself, I would be reminded that anything less than a perfect score was unacceptable. Not to mention, that our nightly discussion included that my hair was not fixed perfectly that day, I had another pimple on my chin, my t-shirt was wrinkled, I didn't put on my make up correctly and it would be a wonder if I ever made anything out of myself.

In high school, I had another teacher, several friend's parents, and even parents who's children played on opposing teams, take me under their loving wings, thank God. When your mother decides to attend one of your softball games, for the first time in her life and screams out, in front of all of the other parents and teachers, "Why in the hell did you throw the ball to her, S-T-U-P-I-D? She's not even on your team, you DUMMY! She's not my daughter!" Of course, I didn't even think anything about that statement because, it was something I heard all of the time. Well..., her thoughtless outburst, most certainly, caught every ones attention!

The parents and teachers immediately gasped - you could have heard a pin drop, right there on the field, in that small, Oklahoma town. One of the mother's, from the opposing team stood up, walked directly over to my, ever so hateful mother, and loudly stated, "Mrs. G., if you knew anything about your daughter at all..., you would know, like all of the rest of us do..., that she is playing against a team that frequently takes her to tournaments with them, as their short stop. She actually plays on seven..., yes..., I said seven..., different..., teams..., that are comprised of players from all of the surrounding schools. She even plays on two, Oklahoma City teams! P.J. is used to throwing the ball to K.," She turns and points at K. who was standing on second base, "Who plays second base on their team! In this game, she happened to be standing on second base..., so P.J. simply threw the ball to her instead of her own second baseman. Both teams are wearing red shirts, by the way! If you were paying any attention at all..., you would have noticed that K. actually caught the throw, even though she is running the bases, since she is used to receiving them from your daughter!" We all glance at K. who is still standing on second base holding the ball in her glove less hand. "Furthermore, everyone in the stands and on the field laughed at the simple mistake..., except..., for..., you!"

"Well, I never!" My mother huffed at the woman and provided her classic, hateful stare.

"And you never will again!" My friend's father yelled, "Don't..., ever..., attend one of her games again! Any one of us would be more than happy to have P.J. as their daughter and none of us will be surprised, in the least, when she receives a full scholarship to play for a college team! Hell..., my wife and I have even driven up to the City to watch her play in tournaments before and paid for her meals so that she could eat something! That is what happens, Mrs. G., when your daughter passes out on the field from hunger because, she was afraid to ask you for any money! You live in a brand new, God damned, one hundred and fifty thousand dollar house and the rest of us live from pay check to pay check!"

My math teacher, T. piped up, "Haven't you ever seen her countless trophies? Did you know she is a cheer leader and is in the Beta Club? Did you know that she was asked to do the sports section of the year book? Did you know that I paid her way and took her to a state competition, in January, so that she could compete scholastically, in history and math? And yes, I forged your name on the release form! Did you know that she is in the marching band? Did you know that she is terribly shy and doesn't speak unless she is spoken to? Do you have any idea about what she wants to be when she grows up? What her favorite color is or her favorite song? Did you know that all of the girls in my class go to your daughter when they have some sort of problem? Did you know that she is constantly being asked out on dates by all sorts of boys, even ones that don't attend our school? Did you know that you sent her to school with your Valium, last week, and told her to take it if her headache came back? Yes..., I went through her back pack and found your prescription bottle in there! Do you realize that she took it, just like you told her to do..., passed out in the office..., and spent the rest of the day sleeping off her drug induced state, in the teacher's lounge? Did you know that T.'s mom came and got her as soon as she got off of work..., took her home..., fed her and then dropped her off at your house? Do you know a damn thing about her at all?"

T.'s mom yelled, "And now, Bette..., you and your husband are going to move right before her senior year, so that you can acquire even more money and thoughtlessly make P.J. graduate from a school of strangers! I'm telling you right now..., she can live with us! I'll gladly let her stay with our family..., so that she can be loved for a change! Our youngest daughter, M., thinks the world of her and has pictures of her, plastered all over her bedroom!" I glanced at M., who was sitting in the stands and smiled, broadly at her - I didn't even know that she had pictures of me in her bedroom. She immediately blushed - it was very sweet.

My mother rose from her lawn chair, grabbed her purse and stomped all of the way to her car. I stood on the field with my mouth hanging open, in complete shock. Tears still streaming down my face from the heartfelt compliments that had been inadvertently given to me by adult defenders, that day. I will never forget the saddened looks on their faces..., some of them finally realizing that my mother didn't have a daughter. She just had another possession, one that she had acquired along the way and tossed aside like all of her other fancy, expensive things.

All three of my high school years, I never realized that the parents of my friends, teachers, various coaches from other schools, as well as, umpires had paid countless entry fees, hotel expenses and food bills on my behalf. I was always told, "Don't worry about it, P.J., we already raised enough money to pay for everyone! Just come and play your heart out like you always do and lets take home another trophy!" To this day..., I'm still moved by their kindness and faith in me. Recalling their encouraging words, their cheers from the stands and overwhelming generosity given to the daughter of the "rich folks in town" still brings me to tears. I now realize that I was that small town's daughter..., the town's inhabitants were the loving parents that I never had. I will be eternally grateful for the love I received from those wonderful people and would like them to know, that I frequently think about them and pray for their well being.

What Is A Sexy Woman?

We are on break at work and my British friend, L., and I are looking through a magazine together. We are sharing a bag of Cheez-Its and she is flipping the pages. Of course, it is a magazine that shows picture after picture of people that are famous for one reason or another. (Because, for some reason, people think that what they read in the magazines is TRUE and that stars are perfect people with perfect lives! Hmm..., I don't think so..., the are real people with dreams, desires, short comings, feelings, failures and the like.)

L., "Don't you think she is just..., beautiful?"

P.J. "Hmm..., in what way? Physically, mentally, her accomplishments, charity work, what?" Tilting my head somewhat sideways - my wife tells me that I do this every time I ask a question.

L., "Her body!"

P.J., "Nope!" I respond emphatically and receive an astonished look.

L., flips the page and points to another woman, "What about her? Isn't she sexy? I wish I looked just like her! Don't you?"

P.J., "Nope! When I see these pictures, L., I think to myself..., someone feed her and feed her right now!" Tapping my finger on the page, "L., she is starving herself in an effort to achieve what? Beauty..., fame..., fortune?" I sighed, "I don't look at these women and think sexy..., I think..., hungry! It is because of these pictures, that the women in this country, think they have to be rail thin and wear tons of make up to cover up their beautiful imperfections!"

L., Wide eyed, "Well, P.J., what does a sexy woman look like to you? Since you obviously don't subscribe to the American or British definition of sexy?" Closing the magazine and looking at me for a response.

P.J., "Hmm..., I think that intelligence is one of the sexiest qualities a woman can possess. There is nothing like a good discussion about politics, the economy, foreign trade or something along those lines to attract me to a woman. I don't care if we disagree on the particular subject, as long as, she can stand her ground and put up a logical, well informed argument for her beliefs! Sexy, sexy, sexy!" My pupils dilate, "L., you have met my wife several times - now, she is one..., sexy..., woman!"

L., "P.J., your wife, B., is such a sweetie! She hardly ever says a word, stays right by your side and just blinks those beautiful green eyes of hers!" Smiling broadly because everyone at work knows I'm deeply in love with my wife.

P.J., "You know, B, is terribly shy..., that's why she doesn't talk much. However; when we are alone..., watch out! She has plenty to say! You know that it only took her 2 1/2 years to work up enough nerve to come with me to any of our get-to-gethers!" Giggling. "Bless her heart, I couldn't decide whether she was going to throw up or pass out on the way to D.'s going away party because there were going to be at least 20 people there!" Smiling broadly and recalling the drive from our house to the party.

L., "P.J. you didn't answer my question. What does it take in a woman, physically, to get your attention?"

Our mutual friend, B.C. - who is a little older than myself, yells from another table in the break room. "L., you know that P.J.'s wife is a gorgeous, fully figured woman, right? She is about three inches taller than P.J. and weighs probably one hundred pounds or more than P.J. does. (Which isn't hard to achieve, because I'm a whopping 5 foot 4 inches and weigh 140 pounds.) And..., you are asking her what she physically likes in another woman, and you are completely missing the fact, that she doesn't care about the physical aspect!" I turn around in my chair and B.C. and I exchange glances and smiles. "L., is confused P.J., please answer L.'s question already so that she will understand where you are coming from!"

P.J., "Okay..., okay, I'll answer the question!" I sigh, "Hmm..., I prefer women who have full figured curves..., there is nothing like the curves of a woman's shoulders, her breasts, her waist as it curves out over her hips, the soft curves of full thighs, the small of her back, etc.... You know B., gave birth to our three daughters, so..., she has stretch marks from having three children and a large scare across her waist line from three subsequent surgeries, after a botched tube tying debacle, in which they left part of an instrument inside her and she got one infection after another and it took them several surgeries to locate the missing part! Her lower stomach muscles are no longer intact so she is very self conscious due to that fact..., and her weight lingers on her mind all of the time. With that said, I find her figure to be extremely sexy..., nice and full..., lots and lots of curves..., softness everywhere I touch..., and I just can't make love to her enough! For me, L., it's not about the body, it's all about the feelings, emotions, triumphs, hardships, devotion, unconditional love, forgiveness and acceptance we have for each other. I never have..., and never will have..., simple sex..., with my wife. I will only make love to her..., all of her..., every inch of her! My goal is to caress her mind, gently squeeze her heart and nibble all over that soul of hers every time we make love, while I bring her the most intimate physical pleasure that I possibly can!"

L., "Oh! That sounds wonderful, P.J. I don't think I've ever been made love to; when you describe making love in those words!" Tears form in L.'s eyes which was absolutely heart breaking to see.

Physical Characteristics

I suppose that we could all answer that question differently. My good friend, D, sent me a questionnaire on My Space. The gist of the questionnaire was to find out, from various friends on the list, which physical characteristics they were most attracted to in the opposite sex. Now..., they all know that I'm a lesbian and are aware of the fact that I will answer their questions with all of my Sagittarius, brutal honesty. My wife and I have no lesbian friends; therefore, I find myself answering all sorts of Midwestern "curious about lesbians" questions quite frequently. All of the women on the list are considerably younger than myself and are coworkers of mine. I think the reason for the age difference is because, while I'm anywhere from 15 to 20 years their senior, I'm very open and honest about myself and accept them for exactly who they are (both their strengths and weaknesses). I'm full of life, always smiling, joking around and am the silliest, craziest, nuttiest one in the group (that is why their jaws dropped when they found out that I spent six years in college, graduated at the top of my class and have earned BBA's in Finance, Economics and Computer Science.)

So..., what hair color do I prefer, eye color, age range, body type, etc.... The list went on and on and on - one meaningless question after the other. At first, I left every question blank and typed the following words on the bottom of the list, "Shallow, shallow, shallow!" Then I paced from room to room, in our 80 year old house, for a few minutes and thought to myself - P.J. this is a perfect opportunity to open their eyes and hearts. Okay..., that is just what I'll do with this questionnaire. I returned to the computer, erased the nasty message I had written at the bottom and typed the following: "I have surfed the wonderful, female waters quite heavily and have learned many things from my experiences with women. The most important lesson that I learned from swimming in the estrogen ocean is..., that a woman's exterior characteristics only house her most important features! Those features would consist of her mind, her heart and her soul. A woman's physical characteristics are nothing more than..., wrapping on the present. And what do we do with presents; we quickly unwrap them so that we can see the gift inside!!!!"

I pressed the post thingy on the page and prayed that they would receive the intended message. I had my wife read it when she got home from work to see if I had explained my thoughts correctly. Her comment was, "Swimming in the estrogen ocean, honey doodles? I tend to think about your previous encounters as, well...," She pauses and gives me her, you know you are the only woman that I have ever been intimate with, smile. "Well..., that you mowed a lot of lawns before you finally decided to settle down with me and the girls!"

I responded, "Just think, babe..., if I hadn't been busy occupying my time with lawn care..., I wouldn't know that our grass is a very dark, hunter green! I have no need or desire to perform lawn care for any other woman, when I know fully well, that our yard needs mowing all of the time! I just..., can't..., get..., enough..., of cutting, trimming and edging our lawn!" I giggled, of course, because I'm a giggler. My wife laughed and asked what was for dinner. "I'm having you!" I responded, "Who needs to eat dinner when you can have dessert?"

A Coin Has Two Sides!

How many times do I have to remind my friends and children that there are two sides to every story! There are two sides to every story..., one side and then the other. A top with a bottom, a left with a right, etc.... Never judge a situation, or a person for that matter, without looking at the complete picture first. The truth about the matter at hand is really perception because, as fallible humans, our truths are based on our perceptions! In addition, I ask them why they feel the need to judge the person in the first place. Lord knows, no one is perfect and errors in judgement, well..., they happen.

Our perceptions are based on our moods, education level, past experiences, morals, social influences, etc..., and can change from one moment to the next - further removing us from the actual truth, as we may or may not, strive to understand the illusion. For those of you who have read any philosophical writings and actually took the time to contemplate what you read..., you understand what I'm talking about.

However; if you are lost in your own little truth world..., there just isn't the time, or inclination, for that matter, to think outside the ever so tiny box in which you live. For heaven's sakes, put yourself in the other person's shoes and try to feel what they are feeling. It isn't that hard..., just takes a little imagination and effort on your part. But then again, we are living in an effortless, give it to me right now because I'm somehow entitled to it, society - now aren't we!

Mental Note to Self: When you remind your teenagers, (18 & 20) to be sure and lock the back door after letting the dogs outside..., make sure you remind them to SHUT the back door, as well! Leaving the, now locked, back door standing ajar about three inches, does not count as actually locking the door!

Noxema - My Savior!

My wife, who turned 42 on Saturday, wanted to go swimming at the lake today, for her birthday. She is convinced she is 33, as she has been for several years now! "No problem, babe..., sounds like fun to me," I responded. So..., we packed up the cooler with pop, gather the towels, rafts, sandwiches, etc..., and head out the door. We also had our two youngest daughter's with us, K & M, 18 and 20 respectively. All four of us pile in Zoom Zoom (my wife's car; mine is called The Bubble Machine) and proceed to make the 45 minute drive to the lake.

Much to my surprise, there was another lesbian couple that arrived at the same time our family did. It was very hard for me not to exclaim, "Look babe, they are holding hands out on the raft and no one has killed them yet!" You have to understand, we live in the Midwest and you just don't act like a couple unless you want to be tongue lashed, whipped, or worse! Did I mention that I want the hell out of here! I want to move somewhere that we can hold hands and kiss in public. Somewhere that we don't have to turn our wedding bands over so that no one realizes that they are identical to each other. I would like to sit on the same side of the booth as my wife, when we eat out, and still get waited on - instead of sitting there for forty-five minutes, listening to them argue about who will serve the sinning lesbians! I would like to be able to say, "I sure love you, babe," while we are in Wally World and not get sneers from others!

Wake up folks, we don't have a disease that you can catch and there aren't really any toaster ovens given out for converting anyone! My wife, B, tried to conform to traditional beliefs and had 3 children and two failed marriages to men. Then..., she finally decided to come out of the closet and be herself when we met. She was my boss (how hysterical is that!) We dated for two years and when we got married, I inherited 3 little girls who's entire family is extremely prejudice, in general. I don't mind showing public affection and I have always been out of the closet; however, my wife is terribly afraid of what might happen to us if we do and we have the children's safety to consider. So sad, to suppress your feelings for one another out of fear.

I have started begging to move somewhere, anywhere that is accepting of our commitment to each other. We have been together for 10 years and have three daughters (now if that isn't "family," then what is?) And no..., none of our children are lesbians, we don't have sex with children or animals and yes..., yes..., we did take our vows in a church! Our house has been spray painted with ugly words, I have been called every name in the book (after they find out I'm a lesbian - it takes them some time since I'm feminine), and passed over for numerous promotions when I was in the financial industry (even though I have three, 4 year degrees!) "I can't promote you because we are doing God's work here, P.J., and your a..., a..., a!" I remember thinking, that's funny, because I don't remember reading in the bible that God discriminated against anyone because they were a..., a..., a! Maybe I should have asked him which God's work we were busy doing.

My wife is a cancer..., so change is very, very scary to her. I will just be patient and keep pointing out the benefits of moving elsewhere. She responds by saying, "It's too expensive to live where we will be accepted..., we don't make that much money, honey doodles!" And I respond by saying, "Babe, I don't give a damn about how much money we make or don't make..., we can live in a pup tent for all I care! I'm proud to be your wife. I'm sure they will have soup kitchens in XXXXX!" She gets this horrified look on her face (could be because she isn't that fond of soup) and so I just change the subject.

Oh hell..., I think I was on a tangent there for just a moment. Anyway, four sunburned women came home from the lake. Yes..., it is true..., we had participated in the annual, let's see who can get the worst sunburn, competition. I'm olive skinned (Cherokee and Dutch) so I don't really burn that bad - I just get darker and darker; however, K & M and my wife are red, red, red. She woke me up whimpering at around 1:00 AM because she was so uncomfortable! I asked her, "Babe, are you going to be alright? Can I get you some Ibuprofen? More Noxzema? Turn the fan on you? Cold rags? Are you going to throw up? Do you need the trash can? (I'm Sagittarius and we are question asking people..., so I barraged her with questions - one right after the other, as usual!)

Tears in her eyes, "Honey doodles, I hurt eeevvvvvveerrrrryyyywwwwhheerrre!"
I felt so bad for her..., she is not a pansy, so it frightened me somewhat. It's true, at 3:30 AM I made a trip to Wally World in the Zoom Zoom for a Noxzema run. "Get two reeeeaaaallly big jars..., hhhuuuuggggeee ones..., the biggggessst they makkkkeee," she instructed.

I responded, "Okay..., babe..., on my way to Wally right now. I'll be back in a flash!" As I helped her take her t-shirt off and lay back down on the sheets. "Just lay right here, babe and don't move!"

You know what is fantastic about going to Wally at 3:30 in the morning? No one..., absolutely no one is there! So..., I put on one of her t-shirts that fits me like a mini dress, pulled on some jeans, put my hair in a bun and raced out of the house. And yes..., I went to Wally with Noxzema smeared and dried all over my face and in my long, thick brunette hair - and I didn't care. My wife needed a humongous, extra large, gigantic tub of Noxzema and she needed it right then! So..., I didn't make a fashion statement or win any beauty contests; however, I did come home with two tubs of Noxzema! Lathered her up to hell and back, fixed her breakfast, made her lunch for work, ensured she had a plentiful supply of Ibuprofen and prayed that her day will be easy.