Six years ago in an effort to fend off mid-life crisis, my husband went out, spent $500.00 on brand new hockey gear and joined a hockey team. Never mind the fact that he had never played hockey in his life, or that he was 36, or that he’s got a bum ankle. He was a dad on a mission. Our son was in beginner hockey and after some prodding from his coach, my husband took up his stick and hit the ice.
Ahhh, the memory of my sweet husband barreling down the ice, unable to stop, takes out the goalie, not to mention the entire goal. Priceless. I have to hand it to him. There is no way, I would put my fat butt out there on that rink, risking life, limb and dignity. But he loved it, stuck with it and now he’s not that bad.
The only problem is the smell. For the love of Pete, the smell that emanates out of his gear could clear Afghanistan of Al-Qaeda. If the government could harness the stench, it would be a weapon of mass destruction. Since he is always late to games, he just takes out the stinky underwear and undershirts and leaves them on the floor in the garage, which is where he keeps his gear.
The first time this happened, I was concerned someone had dumped crime scene evidence in my garage. I wonder if I need to contact the authorities? Upon closer inspection I realize it’s just his delicates and such. Really, I have to pick this atrocity up and get it to the washer? Seriously, the washer is right inside the back door, probably 15 feet from where he leaves his carnage.
The next time I see his stinky garments he at least got them in the door, but instead of opening the washer and putting them inside, they are laying on the floor in front of the washer, in all their glory. Honestly, it’s so bad our dog, which eats his own poop, won’t go near them.
That man, that wonderful man, what can I do. I love him and I am glad he has found something he enjoys. How many of us would have had the guts to try something completely new and foreign at age 36 and stick with it? If he wins in the upcoming play offs, his team gets to play at the Pepsi Center, he is so excited. I haven’t told him yet, but if he wins, we’ll go out for ice cream. But if I have to keep washing his stinky skivvy’s, he is going to have to pay.