I love my husband. I really, really do. He’s a great guy, and I’m not just saying that because he edits my posts for me. Thanks, baby.
Well, a few years ago we were doing a show called The Full Monty. If you’ve never seen the movie, go buy it on iTunes and then purchase tickets to the nearest production. It’s amazing. You’ll love it. The story revolves around out of work steel mill workers. One of the men, Jerry, who my husband played, is about to lose custody of his son since he can’t make his child support payments. I played the ex-wife, which was an interesting dynamic to say the least. It’s odd making your husband cry on stage every night. Not saying it wasn’t satisfying… but it was odd. Well the men decide to become strippers to pay their bills, and they do in fact succeed in doing “the full monty” and stripping all the way. It’s a great show.
Unfortunately for my sweet husband, this show was his first experience with wearing a thong. While I am happy that my husband doesn’t prance around in a thong for giggles, I do wish that he had come to me for help. The very first time that the men had to do the strip for an audience of the cast, the designers, the production/artistic staff of the theatre, and the cast of the previous show, my husband put on his big boy thong all by himself. He was stripping with confidence and panache, boldly going where he had never gone before. He took of his boxers to reveal his red thong and revealed one of his testicles, too. As he was dancing that sucker just rolled out to the side. He tried to readjust while dancing, but again that ball rolled right on out. My brave husband gave in at that point and danced for a room full of people with one nut to the wind.
He took the incident in stride, but when I talked to him later he was convinced that his thong was built incorrectly. All the other boys had stayed securely in theirs. His must, therefore, be broken. But no, no. There was nothing wrong with his red thong. He had put it on sideways. Sideways! I’m not really sure how that works, but he didn’t figure out what was wrong until it was far too late. My husband learned a good lesson that day: there may be no wrong way to eat a Reese’s, but there is a wrong way to wear a thong.