Nothing Can Ever Top Cat Penises-The Top Post of the Year

This remains one of the most hilarious and ridiculous things I have ever done. I love telling this story to friends and family, so it was time to put it into print and immortalize it forever. I hope you love it the second time around as much as I do.

In other news, Happy Third Blogiversary to me. Here’s to another year of mischief and mayhem.

The 2,000 Dollar Cat Penis


People talk heroically about saving lives. I’ve done no such thing; however I did once save a cat’s genitals, much to my father’s chagrin. That last sentence sounds like a cross between absurd and perverted so I’m going to elaborate.

Once upon a time, when I wore the same shirt every single day for a month and never washed it, my mother underwent chemotherapy. It was a difficult time for her and the only creature that consistently brought her joy and comfort (because I merely brought dirt and increasingly large amount of grime) was her cat Splat*.

In between treatments my parents decided to take a mini-vacation. I was living at home at the time so I was charged with taking care of their home and pets. Before he left my father handed me a credit card instructing me to use it in the event of an emergency.

Splat had been slightly ill before my parents’ mini-vacation but watching my parents’ car disappear into the distance pushed him to the brink of death. Responsible daughter that I was, I rushed Splat straight to the veterinarian.

Splat was dehydrated and very sick. The prognosis was grim, there were crystals in his penis and the only way to save him was to cut off his penis, or carry out expensive operation to remove the crystals. Apparently this is a common problem with cat penises. (Or is the plural peni? I don’t really concern myself with the grammatical intricacies of cat genitals.) To top it off, afterwards Splat would eat an exorbitantly expensive food in order to prevent a reoccurrence.

“Well” the vet asked, looking to me to make a decision, “what will it be?”

“How much is the operation to remove the crystals?” I responded tentatively.

“Two thousand dollars” said the vet grimly.

Not possessing a penis, I wasn’t sure of the value of one. In my experience all of the men I met seemed to value theirs greatly. In fact I remembered reading about a man who had fallen asleep on railroad tracks and awoken a triple amputee. Upon learning the extent of his tragedy, the man’s first concern was whether he had lost his member; he was elated that he hadn’t. But on the other hand, Splat had been neutered a decade back, so as long as he was still able to urinate, it seemed that his penis was mostly decorative rather than functional. A bit like a pompom on top of a winter toque. In light of that, it seemed like the obvious decision was to get rid of the penis entirely. Then I thought of my mother’s dismay when she arrived home to discover that her cat was missing a part. I was charged with taking care of the house and the pets, and ideally my parents wanted both to remain as they had left them.

Uncertain as to whether this constituted an emergency but sure that it would end with my mother arriving home to a whole, happy cat, I handed over my father’s credit card.

Two days later, I drove a still woozy but rehydrated Splat home from the vet. My mother hugged him close “My poor Splat, you almost lost your penis” while my Dad gazed in horror at the bill.

It wasn’t rushing a child from a burning building or pushing someone out of the way of a speeding car, but until his dying day, every time Splat groomed his junk, I thought about my decision and was proud.

You can't see his junk, but let me assure you, it was both expensive and beloved. Much like Waterford crystal but with more pee. (Photo Credit : My Dad)

*Names have not been changed because Splat was an animal not a human, also what with possessing the most expensive feline penis on the planet, I feel the world should know his name.

Armpits, Ponies and Mystical Training Bras : The Unsent Cards of Valentine’s Day Past – The Countdown Continues

My family’s nickname for me is “bitey-scratchy” because supposedly I can be difficult to get along with. It was more of a concern when I was younger because allegedly childhood and school are about socialization and learning to be nice to people. Lucky for me, school systems gave up holding people back otherwise I might have spent many a year in kindergarten for being a unsocialable curmudgeon.

I loved this post because it contained elements of that as well as the timeless experience of having to give Valentines to people you don’t actually like or know well. Only one more day of the countdown to my three year blogiversary.

Travesty Tuesdays – More Crimes Against Christmas

Over the summer, I spent almost a month at the farm, every night before dinner, my mother-in-law Zoey would head out to the garden in search of fresh produce for dinner. I’m not sure I had pictured how potatoes plants should be harvested, but it definitely didn’t involve ripping the plant out of the ground. The first time I watched my mother-in-law pull a potato plant out of the earth I thought to myself “Zoey! Stop! You’re killing the plant!” I later shared this reaction with my new family, who thought my city slicker love of potato leaves was funny.

Dear In-Laws,

Merry Christmas, may your holidays be as warm as the plump robin on the front of this card. Tex and I are looking forward to spending a month at the farm in the spring. I can’t wait to learn more about gardening although I’m a semi-professional already- did you know that I’m a seasoned killer of potato plants? Just imagine what I’ll learn in a month at the farm, perhaps how to use Chinese water torture on tomato plants? This gardening is quite a violent business, mind you what can one expect? Where there are hoes, guns, violence and pimps soon follow. I think that make the two of you honorary gangsters. This card has rapidly gotten off topic. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

Love Unwashed

Dear Uncle Jake and Aunty Camelia,

I bought this card because I thought it read “nice” as in the frat boys commenting on dude’s new car- “niiiiice”. And then I got to the checkout and realized there were “naughty” cards. Thus I am arbitrarily assigning all of you to the receiving presents list this year. I’m like the Mother Theresa of material goods and capitalism, it doesn’t matter how many times you told off your neighbour for using his snowblower at 5am, you can still have that steel plated espresso machine. You’re welcome.


Also I included an awkward kissing photo from my wedding to boot. What can I say? I’m one generous S.O.B. That last sentence may have been a Mother Theresa quote. Or Ghandi, one of the two.

(I would have included said kissing photo in the post but I figured there are countless other sites one can visit to look at images of people groping each other on the web. You know you might be a little too into your new spouse when the minister has to all but ask you to get a room during the ceremony.)

Reliving the Greats – On The Road: The Flying Maddie Kerouac

When we first started dating, Tex went into my archives and read every single post I’d ever written. To this day, he’s my biggest fan and cheerleader, given that, I thought he could choose one of his favourite posts from the year as a part of my five day countdown to my blogiversary.

Despite Tex’s claims that he doesnt understand the purpose of indoor pets and non-working animals, Tex chose the post I wrote abour Maddie flying home from our wedding with Sula.

So without further adieu, here is post three of five of the top five posts from this past year.

On The Road : The Flying Maddie Kerouac

10 AM – This is bad. This is very bad. The bags are packed. I repeat the bags are packed. Every single one of them, from the small purse bag to the over-sized wheelie bag. I would run around in a frenzy but anxiety has pinned me helplessly to the floor. Worst of all, the purple prison has emerged.

Life up until now has been pretty good. Admittedly there have been some rough times like when Sula disappears for what feels like forever and I stay with either the nice smelling woman who gives me endless treats (Who gets a cookie for peeing and has no thumbs? This dog.) or the newly fat one who takes me paddleboarding and hiking but ultimately, it’s a good life.

Then I met the purple prison. It showed up at the nice smelling woman’s house. I got stuck in it for longer and longer periods of time. Sure I got treats afterwards but nothing makes up for shoving yourself into the world’s smallest hiding place in a hellish game of hide and go seek where everyone can see you.

Now it’s out again. I rode in it ages ago when we went into a tiny building with bad smelling air and too many people that made my ears hurt. The building made a lot of noise and I was trapped in the violet temple of doom for what was probably a day before Sula helped me fight my way out. Then we got in a car and drove for what must have been two days.

The point is, the bags are packed, the purple prison is out and nothing good can happen from now on. Possibly forever, the purple prison is exceptionally powerful.

4 PM – Terrifying update – The fish is being packed! When Sula returned from Alaska she brought with her a giant box of delicious smelling frozen fish. Sula said while I was staying with the newly fat one and the tattooed man that she had caught the fish in a river. She was silly and wrapped all of the fish in plastic so they’re difficult to eat raw and all at once, but I forgive my master when she does foolish things sometimes.

Oh no, oh no, why are the fish being packed? I liked the fish. I had planned to eat the fish with Sula, but now I don’t know what’s happening.

4:30 PM – There are shoes. I repeat everyone is putting on their shoes! Please let me come, please let me come, please let me come, don’t take away all of the bags and the fish and leave me here forever. I’m standing next to the door so you know that I’m ready to leave, I will follow you anywhere, please let me come.

4:35 PM – The newly fat one is holding onto my leash while Sula and the tattooed man carry everything else including (horrors!) the purple prison. I would prefer that Sula hold my leash so I knew I was staying with her, but her hands are full.

4:36 PM – Sula and the newly fat one are urging me to pee. Who can pee when everything good in the world is packed up into bags???

4:37 PM – Me apparently. After I relieve myself, Sula, the newly fat one and I continue down the street without the tattooed man and the fish. Why are we leaving the fish? I liked the fish! And the tattooed man wasn’t too bad either; he would play a game to towel me off when I was wet and I slept in between him and the newly fat one on their bed.

4:38 PM – Calm yourself Mads, we can live without fish and the tattooed man, we still have the two most important people, life is good. Ok, life isn’t good, but it’s manageable, your favourite ball went into the suitcase, we can remedy this awful situation.

4:39 Pm – We are in the car, sure it’s a really hot car but this isn’t so bad. Focus; you are in the car with your two most important people, life is ok, pant, life is ok.

4:40 PM – We drive the car down the road and pick up the tattooed man and the fish. Hurray! The fish are back. I jump on the tattooed man’s lap when he climbs into the car to express my gratitude; thank you for returning my fish! Dinner is back on.

4:45 PM – I am riding on the newly fat one’s lap which has become smaller of late. I do not like this arrangement. Not only would I be more comfortable in the backseat on Sula’s lap but then I could be sure that she would stay with me and not leave again.

5:00 PM – The car is slowing down. This does not look like the dog park. I do not like this new place. I give a plaintiff look to both Sula and the newly fat one in the hopes we will leave and go to a dog park. Or even better we could go to a beach! I love the beach.

5:05 PM – This building smells like cleaning fluid, fear and hurry. Worst of all I am being held by the newly fat one while Sula walks away with all of the bags. Newly fat one, follow her! Don’t you understand that the only way to survive is by staying together?

5:07 PM – Where are they taking the bags? My favourite ball is in there!

5:11 PM – We’ve actually lost the fish now. A frowny woman I didn’t recognize in a uniform came and put them in a machine. Goodbye fish, goodbye dinner. I guess I don’t actually need you now that my bowels have seized up from worry. I don’t think I will ever eat again. This fact is confirmed when Sula tries to feed me a piece of buttered bagel and it falls directly out of my mouth. The world is ending and food tastes like sawdust.

5:15 PM – I am standing on both Sula and the newly fat one to prevent them from getting away. Sure I’d like the pack to stay together but I am small, and the tattooed man feeds me treats but not meals; I have to be prudent about my choices.



If I can just stay in this position until the end of time, then everything will be good. (Photo Credit : Tex)

5:20 PM – Ack! I moved to stretch my legs and now Sula is walking away.

If I don’t blink, I can keep her in my sight. (Photo Credit : Tex)

If I don’t blink, I can keep her in my sight. (Photo Credit : Tex)

5:21 PM – She is back, the world is ok now. Well not ok, but you get my drift.

5:25 PM – A horrible thought has just occurred to me, the bags are gone, but the purple prison is still here. Am I supposed to go in the purple prison again?

What if I can't ever get out? (Photo Credit : Tex)

What if I can’t ever get out? (Photo Credit : Tex)

5:27 pm – Seeing my distress, the tattooed man tries to cuddle me.


5:28 PM – Sula picks me up and I relax entirely in her arms. This would be a good place to die, maybe I should just expire here while we’re all together and the horrible purple cage hasn’t captured me.

5:30 PM – My worst fears have been confirmed; the newly fat one is placing me in the purple temple of doom.

Please beloved fat one, don’t put me in here, I might never escape. (Photo Credit : Tex)

Please beloved fat one, don’t put me in here, I might never escape. (Photo Credit : Tex)

5:32 PM – Everyone is hugging. Why is everyone hugging? People leave after this happens. Stop hugging! Or hug me so I know that I am coming with you.

5:33 PM – All is well, Sula is picking me up, I am going with her.

5:34 PM – Scratch that, the pack is breaking up again; the newly fat one and the tattooed man aren’t walking with us!

5:36 PM – The rest of the pack has reappeared, but they’re stuck behind a glass door. I plead with them to find the handle so they can join us. They are smiling and waving. The newly fat one is pressing her face into the glass. How can they joke around at a time like this? Do they not understand that I will need all of their help to escape the purple prison?


For Pete’s sake come out from behind that glass and rescue me from this purple case of torture! (Photo Credit : Tex)

Update: Maddie survived her harrowing adventure and made it safely back home and out of her traveling case, after flying once again in a small noisy building. A day and a half later, her bowels unclenched and she attempted to recreate herself in poop form. This would have been more impressive had I myself not done such a thing after a trip. Perhaps that is one of the reasons why I love her so much; we both hate traveling and airplanes.

In case you are interested, small dogs may fly in the cabin of airplanes if they and their carrier together weigh less than 22lbs or the weight of a small personal item. The dogs must stay in the case FOR THE ENTIRE TIME and must be stored under the seat in front of their owner. The airplane must be notified in advance that they are flying with someone and there is an additional fee. Animals are not permitted on flights longer than four hours out of respect for their well being and need to pee. Sula limited Maddie’s water intake before the flight to visit me and going back.

Robots, Fairies and Cold Blooded Murder – The Countdown Continues


I’ve been woken up the past couple of nights at three am, by the man upstairs who is clearly speaking to people in another country where it is a reasonable hour. At first, I was myself, but as the night progressed, I became a blood thirsty killer.

3:04 AM

I am lying in bed with my eyes open listening to what can only be the sounds of a man describing how he singlehandedly saved the world. Or at least that’s what I assume he was talking about, after all, who could be excited about anything less than being an international hero at three am?

3: 22 AM

The man is still talking, loudly and at various volumes so I cannot fall back asleep. I sleepily remind myself that I feel homesick here too and spend an inordinate amount of time on the phone. The difference is that my family is in relatively the same time zone.

3:37 AM

Now he’s talking about cooking up a feast for three million people and describing all of the recipes he will use. Actually that’s just a guess, because what else could have taken him this long to communicate? I picture quietly tiptoeing upstairs, knocking on my neighbour’s door, looking pathetic and small like a sad twelve year old and saying “I can’t sleep when you are on the phone.”

3:49 AM

It’s becoming clear that a man who outlines the exact method that he uses to clean his bathroom at three am needs more than the pathetic image of a woman who looks like a child knocking on his door asking him to stop, in the middle of the night. I picture writing an amusing note to him.

Dear Sir,

If I was a fairy, I’d sprinkle you with magic so you’d sleep through the night without hearing your phone.

If I was a vampire, I’d bite you, not enough to kill you, just enough to make you anemic so you’d be too tired to talk at three am.

If I was a unicorn, I’d pin you with my benevolent hoof and communicate through unicorn mind powers the social mores of society- HINT: we sleep at night.

If I was a robot, I’d put you in a cage without your phone because robots are soulless, but I’d put a bed in there because I’d be a nice robot.

I think we can agree empathy isn't this over-sized toaster's strong point either.  (Photo by Paul Gilham/Getty Images)

If I was a mermaid, I’d slap you with my giant fish tail to get my message across- you’re being rude.

If I was a werewolf, I’d rip my couch apart and eat it, werewolves are unpredictable.

Please go to bed.


The Great Unwashed

4:07 AM

With no end to my neighbour’s jibber jabber about his belly button lint in sight, I move to the couch and quickly discover that our new couch is not comfortable for sleeping on.

4:30 AM

I crawl back into bed, the man upstairs is talking about all of his wonderful qualities; his ability to speak for three minutes without taking a breath, how he is so charismatic that curiously no one wants to hang out with him. He has others but I stopped listening because I had a quest.

“Tex” I said shaking my boyfriend’s shoulder gently, “the gun cabinet is locked; I need the combination.”

“Shhherfenismah” Tex replied before rolling over. My visions of appearing at the man’s door like a tiny pyjama clad Annie Oakley were crushed.

This looks like a woman who always had a good night's sleep. (Photo Credit :

4:41 AM

I rearrange all of the furniture in the second bedroom so the futon will fold out and switch out the flimsy curtains with the blackout curtains in the living room and finally fall asleep.

6:30 AM

Tex is awoken by my alarm next to the bed because I am not there and then is shocked because my first words to him are, “I want to make the man upstairs special cement boots then take him swimming.”

Apparently I am never getting the code to the gun cabinet, Tex is also looking into anger management classes or calming yoga classes for me, he can’t decide which will better prevent cold blooded murder.

The Countdown Begins!

Unwashed here, with exciting news- it’s six days until my three year blogiversary, which can mean only one thing, it’s time to countdown my top five favourite posts of the year. for the next five days, I will be putting up my most beloved pieces of writing from the past year, feel free to add comments or suggestions of blog posts to include at the bottom. For now, let’s relive the delightful excitement that is Francesca and my last birthday.

I’m Going to be Ex-Communicated From My Family Just For Writing This


Dear Grandma,

Thank you for the birthday money. I spent it on hookers and booze. Just kidding, I’m far more classy than that; I spent it on expensive hookers and booze. You should have seen Francesca’s knockers Grandma, were it not for the rock solid feel when squeezed, you would swear those babies were real. Also the thirty year aged port was amazing. Especially when consumed from Francesca’s belly button.

Happy Birthday to me indded. (Photo Credit :

Your birthday gift made turning thirty less painful. I can’t really say much for the day after though. I guess at some point one does have to pay the piper. Thanks again Big G, maybe we can make your ninety-first birthday equally memorable and invite Champagne, Francesca’s actress best friend who moonlights as a stripper.

Tylenol Consumingly Yours


This made me giggle. My ninety year old grandmother is lovely, generous, and above all tolerant, but although she accepts my weirdness, she does not understand it. So I’m sending the thank you card that I wanted to write, to the internet. You’re welcome interwebs. By contrast, my grandmother will receive a tasteful card with flowers and a simple message about buying a ski lift ticket. Personally I prefer fabricated stories about Francesca’s voluminous breasts.

An Unwashed Pregnancy: Tex’s Perspective

I love my wife. She’s cute, fun, and travel-size. That said, life with her requires some…adaptations.

This is how I found myself having to keep cookies under lock and key, preparing furry projectiles  and featuring awkwardly in family Christmas cards.

At first pregnancy didn’t seem to bring much in the way of additional changes. Weeks went by, and Unwashed still looked and smelled like herself. She did seem to reluctantly shower more often and grumble about oily skin, but for the longest time she wasn’t sick. In fact, this lead to one confounding conversation at 4 am:

Unwashed, suddenly sitting bolt upright in bed: “Oh, no!”

Tex, concerned: “What is it?”

Unwashed: “I haven’t had any morning sickness yet, none at all!”

Tex, confused: “Um…”

Unwashed, beginning to sob: “There’s an association of morning sickness and higher IQ in children!”

Tex, consolingly: “It’s OK, I’m sure –“

Unwashed, wailing: “No it isn’t, I’m having a dumb baby!”

She began eating those words within the next two weeks, as the history of severe morning sickness that she inherited from her mother finally caught up with her.

It wasn’t long after that that I didn’t seem to see Unwashed much. I wasn’t away, it was that she seemed to sleep the entire day. When she wasn’t asleep, she was complaining about how ravenously hungry she was. Or turning green and running away quickly. Old friends like garlic were suddenly no longer welcome. Worse, she had prepared and frozen many meals worth of lamb stew, which we had both found delicious. Then one day when I heated some up, I discovered that neither it nor I was welcome anymore.


Just add lamb to this police line-up. (Photo Credit :

The loaded question “Can you believe how LARGE I am?” began being thrown around. I assured her that she was not changing. She complained that clothes weren’t fitting. I apologized for leaving them too long in the dryer. She was worried her parka wouldn’t fit. I bought her a zip-in expander and carefully explained that it wasn’t for her, it was for the baby. This explanation was reused as necessary. Damn, I’m smooth.

Changes in Unwashed’s abilities preceded her understanding of her new limitations. Hiking ten miles in a day used to be routine. Nearly four months in, stopping after three miles was met with furious resistance on the trail and then exhausted acceptance ten minutes later in the car. More recently, half that distance is a challenge to cover at “top waddle”. Her fighting spirit is undampened, however, and with two weeks to go we are still hiking – at top waddle – and even skating, with the assistance of a walking frame,


At 38 weeks she’s practically ready for the NHL. (Photo Credit : Me)

as today was a beautiful day for skating here in the frozen North. Unwashed has needed a lot of help with little things later in the pregnancy. Changes in balance meant needing a spotter to climb onto a chair. Not being able to bend over meant needing help to tie her shoes.

If I have learned one thing about pregnancy, it seems they are constantly waking up uncomfortable. Needing the washroom frequently. Nausea. Heartburn. Muscle pains. Too hot. Not enough pillows.


I could probably use a few more, Tex! (Photo Credit :

This isn’t all that bad. I’ve become an expert at troubleshooting, quickly able to respond with my arsenal of remedies and massages. Where it becomes frustrating are the times when Unwashed wakes up, kicking the bed and groaning as if she has a hernia and loudly declares “I don’t feel well!”

Tex: “What’s wrong?”

Unwashed: “I – don’t – know!”

Tex: “Are your muscles sore? Did you take magnesium?”

Unwashed: “I took it, it’s not that.”

Tex: “Well then what’s wrong?”

Unwashed: “I don’t know, I have gout!”

This led to me coining the phrase “gestational gout” to refer to her inexplicable grumbles. Having now attended prenatal classes, I have a new theory: this is a baby-cry simulator, where the man has no idea what is wrong and must attempt to soothe his partner without her being able to tell him exactly what is wrong. Women instinctively do this in order to train their mate to effectively care for their offspring. This I call “gestational colic” and hope it is no indication of how much our baby will cry.

Something Big (and Manly) Is Coming to The Great Unwashed

Tex wrote me a Christmas present, which is actually for you all. A while back, I talked about banking posts before the baby arrived and Tex casually mentioned that he would like a voice on my blog.

Unwashed – “Are you going to write about a$$holes? Because about half of your quotes involve them.”

Case and point: Tex waking up after a late night “I feel like a bag of crushed a$%holes.” Tex’s reaction to my suggestion that we should bleach our teeth for the wedding. “Only if we bleach our a%%holes while we’re at it.” Tex on my inability to bend enough to shave my legs “That’s why I don’t shave my a%$hole.” Tex retelling the story of my 18 week preggo rage “I was bleeding from both a%$holes.”

Based on all of that, I pictured Tex’s post to be a combination of Borat  and a John Wayne western


Exactly like this only with a Stetson. (Photo Credit

but was surprised when Tex said that he wanted to write about me. Anyways so prepare yourselves readers, you’re about to receive a firsthand account of what it’s like to live with me. Merry Christmas.

Travesty Tuesdays- I Hope Karma Isn’t Actually a “B”

Sometimes I’m a jerk, the rest of the time, I’m an almighty lassmole. The following is a card I sent to the little guy Carter that i sometimes watch and his sister Kennedy.

Dear Carter and Kennedy,

Santa is coming!!! The only way to properly prepare for his arrival is by waking up your parents every day beforehand at 5 am and remind them of this fact at top volume. I am super close byds with your elf on a shelf and was thus informed of this new Christmas protocol.


Clearly this chocolate fiend and I are thisclose. (Photo Credit

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Please hug your parents and repeat this message to them loudly.


Dear Carter and Kennedy’s Mommy

I expect equal atrocities to eb inflicted upon me when I am a parent. Have a LEGO filled Christmas, I can’t wait for my turn to impale my feet on tiny plastic blocks as a way of heralding the holiday season.


When I was finished torturing parents of young children, I decided to send some Christmas cheer to tex’s relatives.

Dear Tim and Leanne,

May your Christmas be filled with red nosed uncles who drink too much and flaming figgy puddings that scorch the ceiling. Those are the best Christmases.

-Unwashed and Tex

Dear Tex’s family members that I have met all of once,

In the words of Mariah Carey “All I want for Christmas is you”, wait shoot, I meant to quote Bing Crosby. Well this is awkward, Merry Christmas at any rate.

-Unwashed and (I can’t believe he signed this one) Tex

I of course sent cards to my family, they were no less weird though.

Dear Dad,

Merry Christmas, in lieu of a daughter because I cannot fly, you get a card this year. There are some benefits to this arrangement: you never have to tell a card to quiet down and stop offending everyone around them, also paper doesn’t need reminders to shower.

Really you might want to stick with this arrangement especially considering that you don’t need to give Christmas cards rides anywhere because they don’t own a car.

Enjoy your Unwashed-free Chrstimas and revel in the fact that I won’t be pinching your hooch to ring in the New Year.

Love Unwashed and Tex






Cowboy Quotables Part Two- Tex on Body Hair, Ballets and Love

Since Tex and I moved in together and got married, there’s been a period of adjustment. For example, previously, I considered soup to be the most important meal of the day, so I ate it every day, sometimes twice. By contrast, Tex is a real man, who considers beer a breakfast food and soup a dish that comes before a meal. After a discussion, it was decided that I would cook food that was not soup occasionally because according to Tex “There’s a reason they call it supine- you eat too much soup, you go tits up”.


Cause of death – an excess of soup. (Photo Credit :

My love of hot liquids extends to beverages as well. My extensive tea collection recently came out of storage, since then Tex has had some fun trying all of my teas, although he isn’t always enthusiastic about every flavour.

Tex- ~pulling out a tea bag from the tea chest~ “Purple calming chakra tea? Made with dragon fruit and the hibiscus flower, to soothe energies? What is this? I feel like if I drink it, my underarm hair might spontaneously braid itself.”


Tex didn’t even want to think about what the tea would do to the rest of his body hair, or that’s it’s floral high notes might inspire him to pan handle with a bongo. (Photo Credit:

On the topic of body hair, I’m thirty-six weeks pregnant, which is to say I’m like Gaston from “Beauty and the Beast” but not in the sweaty, athletic, “watch me lift this tree trunk over my head” kind of way, more in the massive “will you please help me untie my boots” kind of way. This past week, I sadly informed Tex that I was now too big to shave my legs, because I could no longer easily bend to reach them. “That’s ok Unwashed,” said Tex curling me into a hug, “Why do you think I don’t shave my asshole?”

As I’ve said before, Tex is a manly man, who enjoys beer drinking, riding horses and knife making. He’s introduced me to his passions, hence how I spent Thanksgiving helping with a cattle drive. By the same token, I’ve introduced him to mine. We recently took in a production of the Russian Ballet’s “The Nutcracker” together. While walking back to the car, I hopefully asked Tex what he thought about the dance, thinking that perhaps if he enjoyed it, I might take him to see more ballets. “It was like Christmas on acid:” he replied shaking his head as if he still couldn’t believe it, “giant mice, some weird guy jumping around waving a stick and toys that come alive.”


The Russian Ballet Company’s exact vision of that timeless Christmas tale. (Photo Credit :

I’m still not sure whether that was a critique or an endorsement of “The Nutcracker”.

Regardless of what Tex says, I know that behind his words are warmth and humour. Just after we got married this past summer, we were lazing about in our apartment and I turned to Tex and asked “How could your life be better?” He looked at me and drawled “Well I could have two penises” then winked, which was his way of saying “What a silly question, can’t you see how awesome my life is? I have a wife who is five months pregnant with my son, what more could a person want?”