My super-health nut husband brought home some kind of killer germ for all of us the other day, so our house has more or less shut down and entered the red-nose-wiping zone. We are so rarely in this zone, and yet here we are again, within a couple of months of our last visit. Ugh.
After getting poor Cheeks to bed last night, Pants and I cozied up on the couch, zonked out on cold meds, and stared blindly at Lost. (Yeah, I know, not exactly toddler-friendly fare, but my judgment was impaired. He wasn't really watching anyway.) During one of his "I can't get comfortable" squirm-fits, I told him that I felt his pain and that "colds suck." He looked over at me with bleary eyes and nodded his head, like he totally got it, and said, "Yeah, my sucks." Poor guy. My husband then informed me this morning that teaching him "sucks" is not a good idea. Bad judgment call #2. So sue me.
To brighten my own spirits, I thought I'd share a little of that clown-love story I mentioned earlier. Then I'm going to explain why I think polygamy is a great idea. Up for it?
Last month, I escaped the crazy house and went to Houston with my parents, a gift from them for this past Christmas. I'm a fanatic about staying in hotels anytime I get the chance, so this was a much-longed-for break. The highlight of the trip was a night out to see Corteo by Cirque du Soleil. We had Tapis Rouge access, which means you enter through a private VIP "red tent," hang out there before the show and at intermission, mingle with special Cirque du Soleil characters, and get to snack on all sorts of delicious drinks and alcoholic beverages. If you ever have the opportunity to go to a traveling Cirque show, it's worth going "Tapis Rouge" at least once.
Without going into full-on review mode, I thoroughly adored Corteo. I've seen quite a few Cirque du Soleil shows, but this has to be one of my top three favorites. Very dressed-down, compared to some of the others, but spectacular. The difference this time is that I fell in love. With a clown... (cont'd)
I'm terrified of clowns. Have been since I was small, a fear apparently instilled in me after seeing a traveling circus that had clowns with blood-red tears painted on their faces. Who knows what that was all about, particularly considering that I would have seen this in rural Illinois. Not a lot of avant-garde circus acts passing through the corn fields. Nevertheless, this Cirque clown captured my heart.
Okay, so he's not really a clown. He does play a clown during the pre-show audience participation stuff, but he's actually one of the artists. His name is Jérémie Robert (mmmmm, yes, he's French) and he is one of the performers in both the Roue Cyr (spinning around inside a big silver hoop) and the Planche (sort of like a teeter-totter for the XGames). Something about him completely entranced me. If he was even just off to the side during one of the performances, I was honeslty distracted from whatever act was currently performing. I was shameless.
After the fact, I recognize that what was so thrilling to me was not really some random French guy (with incredible muscles-- did I mention that? le sigh...), but rather that glimpse of the ever-elusive first love feeling. That butterflies in the tummy, adrenaline rush, light-headed woozy stuff. No matter how much I love my husband, that stuff is hard to come by these days. It's difficult to be new again.
So I ask you, why is it that we can only have one spouse? Why can't we add a new one when the old one, well, becomes not-so-new? Well? Huh? I could totally use another one, specifically one that doesn't necessarily speak English. One that spins around in a big silver hoop or launches himself off of a teeter-board. One that travels the globe most months of the year. One that doesn't talk to me about the budget, the chores, or anything non-big top related.
I love my husband. I truly do. I am in love with him. However, my attraction to other men did not die the day we took our vows. More specifically, my love of that first-love feeling did not die. I have absolutely no interest in pursuing any of these other men, but I can't deny that occasionally I am quite taken by one... say, at the circus. Is that so wrong?
Lapses in judgment continue as I throw back another cold med...
I'm beginning to think that I don't have a problem with polygamy. Actually, when it gets down to it, I don't have a problem with a polygamist husband, which apparently is referred to as polygyny. Sure, I'm in love with my French clown, but I don't really need to marry him. Truth be told, I don't have any particular interest in even talking to him. I'd like to just keep him in a closet, a sort of affair-in-waiting, so that I can take him out and play with him anytime I should so choose.
No, what I really want in my marriage is another wife.
I admit, I am a terribly jealous and competitive person. However, I wouldn't mind a second wife if she would, say, do the dishes and laundry. With a smile. I wouldn't mind a third wife if she would clean the bathrooms, floors, and dust. With a smile. That would leave me to raise the kids, tend to red, runny noses, and be the emotional backbone of the family. The true support system. The only part of this job I really signed up for, when you get down to it.
The more I think about it, the more I firmly believe that this housewife/ stay-at-home mom thing is too much for one person. Don't agree? Check out My Life as a Man by The Queen of Shake-Shake. By her estimation, I could really use three or four extra wives around this joint.
I'm sure I'm overlooking some complications here. I should probably put Big Love at the top of my Netflix queue. I should probably back down from my cold medication-induced stupor that is enabling this random rambling and go get some sleep already.
However, until then, a girl can dream.
Now back to tending to little red baby noses and dreaming of big red clown ones under the big top.
By the way, for all of you thinking, "What is this disjointed mess?"-- this is what you get when I notice my Feedburner subscriptions drop due to my not posting for a few days (how fickle are blog readers, anyway?!) and then let it bother me when I get emails asking, "Where'd ya go? Why no posts?" Ya get drivel. Writing just to f*ckin' write-- thank you, Lester Bangs!
***all images totally stolen from The Cirque Tribune, as I was trying to find a photo to illustrate my hot-clown love. In this case, please don't sue me... I'll take 'em down and ruin my pretty post if you want.