Last night, Josh was invited to a bachelor party. NBD. Josh and I have been together for twelve years; I’ve happily kissed him goodbye to his fair share of bachelor parties. But as I lay in bed last night in silence and darkness, trying to go to sleep, I turned into a person I never foresaw for myself.
“Josh, I know this isn’t fair,” I started. “I know that I shouldn’t even say this, but I’m worried about you going to this bachelor party.”
He propped up on an elbow, and I could see his open eyes through the darkness. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m afraid it’s going to end up at a…” My voice broke. “…at a strip club,” I cried.
Josh knew exactly what I meant.
“I just don’t know if I can handle it,” I confessed.
Actually, I know for sure that I couldn’t it. Just after surgery, I was having a talk with one of my best girlfriends (whom I love so, so much and appreciate!) about my concerns regarding Josh and my newly mangled and debreasted body. I’ve never doubted for a second that Josh would stand by me and love me all the same (even more really) and keep accepting me for who I am, but I felt sorry for him.
Let’s be honest — We’re all adults here. At least, I hope so! — it wasn’t just me who lost a pair of boobs, it was my husband too. I worried about how a man would feel going through the rest of his life without ever getting to touch another breast again. Also, men are much more visual when it comes to sexytimes and stuff. Plus, boobs are awesome. We all know this.
When my 93 year-old patient found out this weekend that I was, indeed, breastless (It was a long, windy, dementia-filled road for that to come up in conversation.), he immediately voiced his concern for my husband.
“Nothing for him to touch?”
“Nope, I guess not,” I answered.
“How has he been with that?” he asked with genuine worry.
“He’s fine. And besides, I’m alive,” I answered as gently as I could.
“But I mean….poor guy!”
“Yeah, well, I’m alive.”
So it’s fair to say that I’ve spend some time feeling a little sorry for Josh (but not too much time because there have been a lot of other worries on my plate over the last year and a half and, besides, what really is most important is that I’M ALIVE, dude!)
Anyway, I spilled all these fears to my friend just after surgery, and she was, naturally, concerned right along with me. Then, she came up with a plan.
“Maybe, when you feel like Josh needs to, you guys could go to a strip club together, and Josh could get a hands-on lap dance…and he can get it out of his system that way,” she suggested.
Not even for a second did I entertain this idea. It was the most horrifying thing I had ever heard actually. The last thing I want to do in life is watch my husband get his jollies from another woman. Especially if those jollies are something(s) I can’t give him anymore. To watch him put his hands on another woman. Umm, no thanks! That was not the answer. (And to be fair to Josh, he was equally as horrified.)
I’ve never been a jealous girl, and I haven’t been particularly insecure. As a matter of fact, before we had kids, Josh was the singer of a band, and women (girls?) would ogle him and flirt with him and throw their underwear at him (Just kidding. I don’t think there was ever any underwear involved.) right in front of me. I didn’t care. I really didn’t.
Well, once, I did. It was when a girl was trying to talk Josh into her over me as I sat right next to him and after I had already MARRIED him. “Her?” she said looking my way in disgust. “She looks like a librarian.”
It took all I had not to scream, “At least, I don’t look like a whore!” I’m a lady, and I don’t say such things. Also, librarians have to use inside voices. I didn’t have to though because Josh very nicely PUT HER IN HER PLACE.
When Josh went to bachelor parties before, I didn’t really care if they ended at the strip club. Although, more often than not, they didn’t. I knew that they weren’t really his thing. I was his thing.
And I still know that I am his thing. I just can’t handle the thought of him in a strip club. Be it good or bad or fair or not, I just can’t, and it really has nothing to do with him.
So when I told him last night that I was worried/panicking a little, he again proved to me why I chose him.
“Oh yeah, you don’t have to worry. I already talked to [the groom] about it, and it’s not going to be that kind of party. And if it goes there, I won’t. I understand why you feel that way. You don’t have to worry, Heather.”
Again, I get myself worked up over things that I need not get worked up about.
Also, so what if I look like a librarian? Librarians are hot. And at least, I CAN READ.