We Broke The Bed

We’ve been on a romance theme here at StealingFaith.com and up until last summer my most embarrassing moment involved a one-time romantic interest so I’ll just bite the bullet, give you a good chuckle, and tell you all about it.


(Just in case you’re wondering, my new most embarrassing moment is really… embarrassing. I don’t know if I’ll be able to share it publicly on StealingFaith.com but if I do I promise you will helplessly pee your pants with laughter. I’m hoping I never have a more embarrassing moment. Ever.)


(But up until then, this story I’m going to tell you was my winner.)


Back in the summer in between graduating from college and starting my master’s degree I got a little crush. We shall call him “Joe” and he shall be called my “Joe-crush.”


In June we hung out and by the 4th of July I was certain my crush was in solid running to be Someone Special. We even held hands. It was a Big Deal.


But, life intruded, I went out-of-state for graduate school and he continued his awesomeness in one zip code and I continued my awesomeness in another. We still thought highly of one another but it just wasn’t meant to be.


Fast forward. I’m happily married to Lizard for a full seven months and we have been convinced to participate in the Christmas dinner theater by dressing up as a Navy man and his girl and dance to Bernard/Smith’s Winter Wonderland.


Lizard used spirit fingers, danced a box step, and dropped me into a backward bend for the big finish while wearing a sailor uniform. Yep. He loved me then and he loves me now.


The special surprise for our dinner theater was Joe was back in town to perform! He is an incredible musician, so this was a treat in the best sense of the word.


It was the first time we had seen each other in person since our hand-holding summer of thwarted romance and while we were very happy to say, “Hi,” we didn’t really know what to say.


We covered the basics of the weather, how we were, how we’d been spending our time, and whether those Broncos were in the running for the Super Bowl. (Hope springs eternal. I would also like to mention I wanted to write “bowl” and wrote “bowel” instead the first time.) Joe, Lizard and I were all standing huddled together in the alcove, waiting for our turn to perform.


There was a lull in the conversation and I took leave of my senses. Inanely, while leaning against my husband I bleated, “We broke the bed last night.”


We were in a church. It’s amazing there wasn’t a lightening bolt from God above right there to do me in.


Lizard gave me a look I will never, ever forget. That was the first time he had genuine reason to believe he’d married a mad woman.


What I should have shared was the night before our poodle was rolling around in the middle of our bed. Lizard, who truly lives to torture poodles, saw her from the adjoining bathroom and decided to play a spunky trick.


From the doorway of the bathroom he launched himself toward the bed and the unsuspecting poodle. As he was mid-flight he let out a huge roar and the poodle may or may not have wet herself in shocked surprise that her life was about to end.


Lizard landed on the bed with a solid thunk.


Which was immediately followed with a metallic crash that shook the whole house as the bed frame gave way under the weight and trajectory of the sneak attack.


I may or may not have wet myself at that point.


It was a big, funny story. Something worth talking about to a friend – and it was timely because it had happened less than 24-hours before.


But instead of actually telling the story I said, “We broke the bed last night.”


My Joe friend blushed clear through the roots of his hair. It’s true, he turned bright red on his face and hot pink in his hair and his mouth gaped open, showing lovely white teeth on a field of pinky pinkness.


“I’m very happy for you,” he said. Then he politely looked away.


I wanted to die.


Because, really, once you’ve gone that direction, there’s no graceful way to get out. Open mouth, insert foot.


I do that pretty well. Lizard says my filter is set too low sometimes. I think he’s right.


The moral of the story: Think before you speak and never tell a past quasi-crush you broke the bed with your spouse the night before. It will be awkward. Even if it’s true.


What embarrassing romantic stories do you have? And, please, if you enjoy what you’re reading here, share it with your friends… your parents… your past romantic flames… I live for blog clicks! 🙂


This post was originally published August 29, 2011 and is being recycled as part of the “I’ve Been Around” summer! Hope you enjoyed it and I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments!


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