My wife just caught me holding my penis.
It was not like a giant, engorged penis either, just a limp little wiener being walked to the toilet.
What happened was this:
We were watching television and the show we were watching ended. My wife went upstairs to change out of her work clothes. After a moment or so it occurred to me that I had to pee. The bathroom is about 15 feet away, not a marathon at all. I didn’t have to pee badly, but it was enough to get my otherwise lazy ass off the couch.
Because she was upstairs and because I wasn’t at all thinking about much of anything, I stood up, unzipped my jeans and took out my penis in the living room. It wasn’t sexual, it wasn’t a “statement.” It wasn’t anything other than preparation to pee in what I estimated would be a few more seconds and about 10 footsteps.
Because I think our house was designed by a really stupid Hollywood set designers and was only very narrowly rejected by the Gone With The Wind directors, we have a spiral staircase that is visible from the home’s entranceway.
So, as I absentmindedly walked to the guest bathroom, penis in hand, wearing jeans and a T-shirt and oblivious to the world, the wife came down the Scarlett O’Hara staircase and gasped. It went like this.
Me singing in my head: “I’m going to pee, la da dee, I’m going to pee lucky me. Got me wiener in my hand this is the time to understand … that I have to pee.”
I had mindlessly walked from the living room, into the foyer with the dick out, just holding it. I thought nothing of this at all. I was just going to pee.
The Frau came down the racist staircase at exactly the same moment I was about to turn into the bathroom.
For the first time in many, many years of marriage I felt a bit awkward. So did she.
“Are you holding your dick?” she asked.
“WHY!” she yelled.
“I have to pee,” I answered, still holding my penis.
She looked disgusted and ran back up the staircase, likely reciting some sort of line from Gone With The Wind.