Do Not Try This At Home

I bounce up the stairs to my room and find my wonderful husband in our bathroom, intently reading the back of a little box. I casually ask what he’s doing as hang up my work clothes and throw on my comfy sweats. He shows me the box with excitement in his eyes, NADS Hair Removal System. My thoughts of a relaxing evening at home quickly convert to extreme hilarity. I snort a little.
He’s tired of shaving off the small amount of hair he has left every morning, fighting with dull razors and constant nicks that ooze red streams down his neck. In his hands, he holds the answer. The miracle he has been awaiting. Unbeknownst to me, he’s been watching the infomercial late at night as they demonstrate the pain-free, simple steps. He shows me the gelatinous green goo and tells me of the organic nature of which it is made. I warn him of their deceitful lies and honestly attempt to save him from himself. He tells me I am blasphemous and insists I know not what I say. Fine, let him feel the pain as I settle myself on the bed to enjoy the show. Because I love this crazy man, I plead with him to start with a tiny spot.
He ignores my wisdom as he grasps the stick and smears the holistic substance across the side of his head and smoothes on the white cotton strip. He glances in my direction with a smirk, prepared to show me how it’s done. After all, he is the man. I smile right back at him because I am the woman and I know what he doesn’t. He grabs the edge and, in one quick motion, yanks. The room is filled with the deafening screams of a girl. From the mouth he kisses me with, he spews more profanity than an entire squadron of sailors finally back from six months at sea, drinking free beer. I am doubled over holding myself, tears flooding my face, hysterical. I can’t breathe. I pee a little.
Over my uproarious laughter I vaguely hear something about the lying bitches (and another that I still can't bring myself to say - starts with a c) as he grabs for the phone to dial the 1-800 number provided on the instruction sheet. I reach out my hand and attempt to stop him from giving them a piece of his mind but I still can’t speak. I grab the phone and hold it behind my back as he reaches and grabs, fighting for his vindication. I wipe the tears from my face and force myself to relax, breath. I talk soothingly into his ear, somewhat distracted by the flaming red strip of raw, enflamed skin on his scalp with every last short hair still firmly intact. As he slowly comes back to reality I lean in close and whisper into his beautiful ear, “I told you so, Dork.”