The Time I Almost Got Some Poor Sod Killed By His Beautiful Wife

30 January, 2010

(This has nothing to do with atheism, just remembering a time I almost god some poor sod killed.)

Many, many years ago (last century, in fact), I watched a young couple enter a building in which I work.  Mom, dad, a two-and-a-half year old boy, and twin 6-month-old girls in a stroller.  Cute family. 

They walked over to me, mom pushing the stroller with one hand, hanging on to the toddler with the other, and balancing a large diaper bag over her shoulder.  “Do you have changing tables in the lady’s room?  And where is it?”

I smiled (inwardly (flashing on my children at that age)) and said, “The restrooms are in that passageway.  On the left.  And there are changing tables in the men’s room and the lady’s room.”

She stopped cold.

Dad went white.

She turned to dad and said, in a voice dripping with anger, hurt, and a certain you-are-dead-ness to it, “You told me they never put  changing tables in the men’s rooms.”

I had visions of the paperwork required if a woman commits husbandicide and decided I should speak up.  Dad was hemming and hawing and looking scared.  “Ma’am, this is a very new facility.  Most men’s rooms don’t have changing tables.”

She looked my way, said, “Uh-huh,” and turned back to dad.  She handed him the toddler’s hand.  Then placed the diaper bag around his neck so it hung down his chest.  Then took his free hand, placed it on the stroller, and said, “You’re turn.”

He took the kids into the restroom while mom sat down on the bench and began talking to herself:  “He says they never put them in the men’s room how long has he been lying about that what else is he lying about he can change those kids for the next week no more go see mommy I’m gonna . . . .”

Dad was in the restroom for about fifteen minutes.  Actually, more than that.  I was downstairs giving a break to the front desk attendant and left before he came out. 

Mom was still on the bench talking to herself and making strangling motions with her hands.

I didn’t read about any murders, so I guess I just almost got him killed.

All in a days work, I guess.

Now, of course, it is years later.  My (((Wife))) has a different take on baby changing tables now.  She thinks you should put the baby in the table, close it, open it back up, and see what you get. 

Pretty simple.



  1. I like your wife’s idea. I’m gonna try it and see what happens 🙂

  2. Well, I’m sure as hell not showing this post to Wifeshui…

    Honestly, (((Billy))). Where’s your sense of male camaraderie? You know you aren’t supposed to tell the ladies about the stuff we potentially could do…

  3. You know the Maryland Welome Station on I70, going toward Frederick from Pennsylvania?

    Couple of years back we stopped for a “relief” break and I was talking to one of the attendants, who had asked me if everything was OK, since I seemed to be looking puzzled. (As that seems to be my ‘default’ expression, and state of mind, it wasn’t his fault)

    I mentioned that I didn’t see any babies at the baby changing station, hadn’t they put them out yet?

    He looked puzzled.

    I said I had some babies that I was kind of disappointed with, and I wanted to see if I could “trade up”, so when were they putting their babies on display? I was in kind of a HURRY, here… I mean it was a baby CHANGING station wasn’t it…?

    The poor man, displaying a toothy, wide eyed grin, sidled to the office and slammed the door.

    Still, if your young mom was all that steamed about that, I hate to think what ELSE might have been bubbling in their pot.

    Plus, the guy’s gotta know that pregnant and toddler caring mothers are extremely volatile and should be treated the same as you’d treat a test tube of nitro glycerine in your pocket. You get largely the same result if you cause any kind of jogging of them…or nothing at all, even.

  4. (((Billy))) – I’m with the mother on this one, minus muttering about what else the guy had lied about. I’d have waited until the deacon got back, then given him what-for.

    yunshui – You don’t have to show it to wifeshui. I’ll send it to her for you. 🙂

    Sarge – I never saw any kids belonging to anyone else that I would have exchanged for mine. I like my kids a lot more than I like most of their peers; that was especially true during the diaper/potty training stages. Cleaning up and changing my kids was one thing. Changing the nappies of some other woman’s kid? Unthinkable!

  5. Chaplain, dear lady…

    Just an example of me exercising my finger-snapping wit. My wife was scared to death we’d have the cops on our ass and I heard about it from there until we passed 295 exit to Wheaton. Loudly… interminabley… buut, if you’re gonna be a wise-ass, that’s what you have to expect…

    I am with you, my sons (now 37 and a couple of weeks away from 40) were great kids, I wouldn’t have exchanged them for anything…well there was ONE day…

    We lived in Nurnburg and they decided to push every single button I had, if I told them to not do something they were into it, if I told them TO do something, they wouldn’t do it…

    I told them if they didn’t straighten up, fly right, and start listening I was going to take them and sell them to the gypsies camped at the Festplatz.

    They got quiet, and about ten minutes later, they came out of the bedroom with their suitcases packed, and told me that they were ready to go. They weren’t going to be good, they weren’t going to listen, and they weren’t going to “get with the program”, so I should take them and sell them.

    My wife must have eye muscles that could lift I-Beams she rolls them so much over me. She did so, and gave me the, “OK, get yourself out of THIS one, friend-0”.

    I considered…said, “I’m not going to. You want it too much, so there”. OK, it was lame as hell, but it worked…they told me later it was just on the edge, but was technically an effective riposte (barely) so they let it stand. Rules! There were RULES and it was just inside the line! Phew!

  6. Ha, ha, the (((Commentary))) cuts it off as The Time I Almost Got Some Poo…

    changing tables? poo?

    (never mind)

    I’ll bet that guy didn’t get laid again for a very long time…

  7. With me, I never minded changing diapers. Had not a whit of a problem with it.

    FEEDING them that “baby food” though, that was a chore for me.

    I tell the young men I know: “Heeeeelp your wiiiiives! Take care of the kids”!

    I tell them, “maybe you win a round today, but what about in two, or say, ten years”? Most of them honestly think the spouse will forget aaallll about it, it’s “old business”.

    Until they want that new shotgun, or tool, or maybe something with the car. That’s when it bites them. And Hell, they’ve been told, I tell ’em don’t bitch to me, and repeat those four most satisying words, “I TOLD ya so”!

    I’m old enough not to actually have seen my scorned advice bite the know-all guys. One of those few pleasures of aging…

  8. Please delete the “not to” and insert “to” in the last para!

  9. I was at a garage sale where the folks having the sale had their baby in a playpen on the front lawn. My son, as a smartass teenager, said loudly, “Look, Mom. A clean white baby for sale!” We got lots of angry looks as we left quietly.

    He and his brother are twins. When we were out, it always took both of us to get them changed, so my husband and I split them up on bathroom trips.

  10. Eaten: As Sarge points out, you have to wait for the exchanges to be put out on the changing table. (((Wife))) was incorrect (apparently) regarding the process.

    Yunshui: I am a government civil servent. I don’t have the political clout to be either dishonnest or to lie by ommission. It is your job, as the husband, to keep wifeshui ignorant. Haven’t you read your bible?

    Sarge: Your process sounds more doable than (((Wife)))’s.

    Chappie: Mayabe it’s one of those families in which the wife must be obedient (at least when the husband is around). Maybe her mutterings were meant to relieve pressure, not to be heard.

    Sarge: My parents never threatened to sell us to gypsies. Though we did leave my oldest sister at a gas station in Nevada when she was about nine. Mom and Dad finally grokked that something was wrong when there were no arguments for an hour.

    Ildi: After seeing (((Wife))) give birth twice, I am amazed that any woman is willing to get pregnant a second time.

    Sarge: The Great Internet Noodle says, “Done.”

    Mutzali: I’ve been known to see a small child in a shopping cart and ask in which aisle they are to be found. So far, just laughs in return.

  11. Sheesh! (((Billy))), Yunshui has a valid point. If you’d blab about that, what’s to stop you telling about the roulette tables and the pie dispensers?

  12. There are dozens of chores I liked a lot less than changing the baby. Unsnap, unsnap. Fold, fold. Wipe, wipe. Unfold, unfold. Snap, snap. Toss. If you feel like accompanying your work with your own smile-getting version of some self-composed “pee-pee” or “poo-poo” song, you can do so without any negative critical response. And then you’re done. And you’re some kind of a big fucking hero.

    Later, you don’t have to vacuum.

  13. Postie: Apparently, New York restrooms are different than the ones here in Kentucky northeast Pennsylvania. All we get (in (for instance) the local Sheetz) is a condom dispenser (for which I have no need) which sells them for about $3.00 each. Hell, I’d settle for clean.

    Larry (or Colonel (who do you have to bribe to become a Kentucky Colonel?)): Welcome back (if (that is) you are who I think you are). I had no real problem doing the chore, I just got sick of the shit poo poo looking like butterscotch pudding. And trying to remove it was akin to removing peanut butter from velcro.

    And whaddaya mean you don’t have to vacuum? The only way I got out of that one was breaking the damn thing. Three times. Once permanently.

  14. (((Billy))):
    Well, I’m probably who you think I am. But, of course, that depends on how vivid your imagination is. I have to admit: I’m not always sure that I’m who I think I am.

    That butterscotch business is only slightly worse than cleaning up cat barf. But the consolation is that someday the kid’s gonna learn to do that in the officially designated area.

  15. Larry: Well, your writing style is virtually identical to the brilliant (though now defunct) No More Hornets. I’m assuming here (always dangerous) that you may be the same one?

    And I still can’t eat butterscotch pudding, though I used to enjoy it a great deal.

  16. I didn’t even know I had a writing style. I’ve been under the impression that I’m imitating Dickens.

  17. Sorry, he was before my time. You, apparently (and from your avatar, definately), are of an age to have been contemporaneous.

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