I love my husband.  Not only is he the funniest person I know, but he also proves to be an endless source of column ideas.  Typically it’s of the “Doo is driving me crazy!” variety, but occasionally the fodder is pure situation comedy.

Take last night. We took the kids out to dinner to celebrate our eldest’s birthday. Doo’s mom also joined us and, as we piled into the mini-van, Doo mentioned that his stomach was a little on edge.  He’d eaten Thai food for lunch with some buddies and thought maybe that was the source of his discomfort.

Once seated, we ordered an appetizer and drinks, and Doo politely excused himself to go the restroom.  He was gone for a good fifteen minutes, long enough that he missed out on most of the calamari and bread.  “Are you okay, babe?” I asked.  “Do you want to just split something?”

“That did not go well,” Doo replied with a sigh.  “I worked through some of it, but the rest is coming.  Soon.”  Doo managed to finish his soup and about half of his salad, but had to excuse himself again before dessert.  He told me to order him a coffee and the tiramisu, and then walked rather quickly to the men’s room.

Ten minutes later he was back, still looking kind of off.  “Why did I eat Thai-hot today?” he moaned.  “We’re going to have to leave fairly soon.  I’m not finished and it’s not going to be pretty when I do.”  So we paid our bill, loaded Grams and the kids back into the car, and began the relatively-short trip home.  I was driving.

Before we even reached the stop sign in the parking lot, Doo turned to me and said, “I am not kidding.  Get me home NOW or I can’t be held responsible for what happens in this seat.”  His complexion was now the color of Sweet Mint, and a fine sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead. Naturally, we all began to mock him.  Through the guffaw, I could hear poor Doo chanting, “I’m not going to make it, I’m not going to make it.”

As I giggled at the thought of a possible Bridemaids re-enactment, Doo frantically pulled out his phone and dialed his brother who lives about half-way in between. “Have the door open and clear the way,” he yelled, clutching the armrest for dear life. “Hee, hee, hoo” I coached, and then literally peed myself from laughing so hard.

I’m not proud that I broke several speeding laws to get Doo to that toilet, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat.  Because I really do love my husband.  Peace out.