The Inappropriate Work Spouse

Ya’ll know exactly who I am speaking of…

You know, the spouse of the top sales person who drinks too many pre-made fruity martinis at the company  cocktail party, causing her to speak in slur, resulting in her husband  subtlety removing her name tag so noone knows to whom she belongs to.

Or, perhaps, the spouse who is out to dinner with his wife’s former (thankfully) employer, who has this whole routine where he cops a feel on random women, and gets away with it…until he messes with the former employer’s wife.

Better yet, the spouse of the business partner who screams “I want to kiss a lesbian” at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve, in front of the other business partner and guests….and then does just that.

Yes, I have been privy to all these acts.  Yet, never have I been the inappropriate spouse.  Until the other week.

Occasionally, My Husband is asked to attend the annual award trip for the top advisors in the company he works for, as a host.  And, lucky me, I get to go along for the ride.

For those of you who don’t know My Husband, it is really hard to synopsize him in one paragraph.  An intense and bold (Dunkin’ Donuts Turbo?)  person with opinions-a-plenty and no filter.  I could describe him as a hybrid of Chris Christie and Rahm Emanuel- and throw in a little Rachel Maddow once in a blue moon (he’s a Cancer…a true M&M).  I am mostly the good cop to his bad cop.  I am not really a ripple in the pond type of person, whereas he can be a tsunami.  One of of my main roles in our life is being his publicist, AKA damage control. I have had to clean up a lot of little PR disasters in our 12 years together.

For once, this trip delivered an inappropriate spouse moment. On the other foot.

We were snorkeling in the sparkly cerulean Sea of Cortez.  I should have known to heed the no-less-than-6 “WARNING Jellyfish Season” signs when it took the crew 10 minutes to let us dive in-after waiting for the jellyfish all clear.  Apparently, there was only 1 smart person on board, because she decided to just stay on the boat and enjoy some cocktails. We should have all followed her lead.

5 minutes into the experience, and only a Gar sighting, my left inner thigh felt like it had been lit on fire.  I think I even screamed “en fuego en fuego en fuego” (we were in a Spanish speaking place, and you all know how I love to blend).  I waited for the pain to subside, but it didn’t.  It hurt. Badly.  So, I swam down and yanked the flipper off of My Husband’s right foot.  As I dragged him to the surface, I supressed all desires to scream, lest embarrass him more – and simply stated- I’ve been stung by a jellyfish.  The ever-so-caring man he is responded with “it’s in your head”.  And, of course, you can then imagine all of the creative obscenities that filtered through my clentched teeth.  After floating in the water for an additional 5 minutes trying to pretend it’s only “in my head”, I’d had enough, and I swam back to the boat.  And I did so with flair.  I started waving my arms to the crew, yelling “help, help- I’ve been stung!!”  Apparently, so had 2 of the fellow guests on board, albeit they were a little less dramatic than I…

As the three of us doggie paddle near the steps, a bronze muscled arm reached down and lifted me out of the water, with purpose. I had been rescued.  Praise Jesus.   Not so much for John and Jim Doe still floating about.  I then found myself somewhat on display on the boat with the ever-so-helpful crew.  The jellyfish accosted leg is thrown up in the air and the rest of my limbs are hoisted and splayed about.  5 crew members hosed me down with water, (please note:  I am not exactly wearing the most appropriate swimming attire for a work function).  The nice lady who had the insight to stay on the boat and drink liquid refreshements in the blazing sun, encouraged someone to pee on me. Thankfully, all refrained.  At this point, my fellow stingees hobble onto the ship.  Poor guys, both of them sustained many more stings than I, all over their torsos and back.  One of the crew members hastily gave them a pitcher of water, only after they asked, as the rest of the crew gingerly patted my thigh down with vinegar and give me a healthy rubbing with lidocaine cream. I glanced over to see my husband bobbing through the sea, eyebrows arched, intently watching my 1st class First Aid treatment.  Poor John and Jim Doe, were left with only the remnants of the lidocaine tube of cream even though they had multiple stings/wounds/attacks.

As My Husband finally ascended onto the deck, he found me at the boat bar on my 4th shot of tequila, jellyfish venom coursing through my veins, engaging in lively conversation with the strapping young crew men; Claudio, Pedro, Marco, Carlos and Juan.  I had already started a “victim’s support group” with the other two who had braved these nears three inch long monsters of the deep blue sea.  We agreed that we no longer needed training wheels, and ordered up another round of some tequila you’ve never heard of just as My Husband arrived…..And he then subtley removed my name tag and started referring to me as “Sally”….I’m officially that spouse.  Arrrrribbba!

2 thoughts on “The Inappropriate Work Spouse

  1. Leah says:

    Too bad it was all in your head – sounds like a pretty great ending.

  2. Name says:

    long live the flip n cup

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