Life With Don. Warning: Not for the faint of heart...or stomach

Grandma Goodwin, you might want to skip this post.

Last night Don let out a burp that would have wilted lilacs. After four and a half years of marriage, and a lifetime with two brothers I'm no stranger to the fact that guys think bodily functions are pretty much a ten on the "hilarious scale." My brothers educated me at a young age to their fine skills of gleeking and buttercups. You can pity me now if you'd like. But what didn't kill me made me stronger. Really. And, heaven help me, it might have even made me an enabler. And so, the following conversations ensued:

"Nice one. I bet you could burp the whole ABC's," I mused.
"Nope. I can't burp that long."
"You don't have to do the whole thing with one burp."
"A girl I knew could. She would take a swig of root beer and do it."
He demonstrated, using a fake burp, since he hadn't honed his skills to do it for real yet,
"a-b-c-d-e-f-g-h-i-j-k-l-m-n-o-p-q-r," (fake gasp) "s-t-u-v-w-x-y-z."
"Wow. That's talent. Most people I've seen do it take breaths in between the letters."
I probably shouldn't have said that last one. I could see the wheels in his head turning before he decided to give it a go.
I could hardly hear his attempt at the letter "a", but he grew stronger. By "g" I was officially grossed out. But by "L" I was kind-of laughing. Okay. I was laughing. I'll admit it. He was getting tired.
"This is hard," he panted in between burps; he had gotten to "q".
By "w" I had tears running down my face. He had gotten stuck on "w" and had to try three times. So gross. That one's tricky, especially after going through the whole alphabet. He ended with gusto on "z". That's my man.

Five minutes later we were having the following conversation:

"Guess what? LiLi doesn't have to use her baby bath anymore. She can just sit in the bottom of the shower."
"What??" This time I really am mortified, "You pee in the shower!!"
"Just in the drain. It's great: I just put some toys in the bottom of the bath and let her chew on them."
"She's going to get some weird disease because you let her chew on toys that have been contaminated with your pee."
"She's not going to get a disease from my pee. Besides," he amended, "I don't pee in the toilet very often."
I slap my forehead with my palm. D'oh!
"I-I mean the bathtub very often."
I'm shaking my head and trying not to smile in spite of myself, because I knew full well what he had tried to say, but his last statement causes a series of thoughts to run through my head:

1- I should wash out the tub more often.
2-Why do I even try to keep this house, and baby so clean when it's clearly a losing battle?
3-What argument can I come up with that will seal the deal to make Don wash the tub from now on, as in forever??
4-It's a good thing I'm the one who gives LiLi the majority of her baths.
5-I utter a silent prayer of thanks that she has a mother.

Now don't get me wrong, these conversations might give you the impression that Don is...is...maybe I'll let you come up with the adjectives. The point is, is that's not what I'm trying to say. And in my husband’s defense, that's not what he is. He's just a guy. And I'd have to admit I probably wouldn't want him any other way. Especially if it meant that he'd start going to a tanning booth and vainly glancing in the mirror, or wearing cherry lip gloss. (I don't know why I threw that last one in.)
What a pair we make.

*a special thanks to Don for relenting, and letting me publish this post. Love you, baby.