Skip to main content

it's like mythology, but totally not

You know when, after you've eaten, your stomach can gurgle a little bit?  You know how most people don't really like other people to talk about those gurgles, because it's kind of awkward?  My husband missed that memo even though the rest of society seemed to get it just fine.

He really can't miss a good stomach gurgle without some kind of lame comment.  Because after 30 years of life, apparently he still finds digestion fascinating.

My years of marriage have given me some experience dealing with this (since, you know, he does it EVERY time.)  And instead of getting annoyed, or angry or embarrassed I've come up with something a whole lot better:

The Stomach Gods

So when I get a, "HOLY COW - was that your stomach?!!!" from Husband (who clearly feels comfortable reverting to 2nd grade amusements.) I just say, "The stomach gods are accepting my sacrifice." or "The stomach gods are angry."  Or sometimes I just roll my eyes - but that's not the point of this post.

Since this has been going on for years, there are now other parts of my body that are ruled by gods.  (Keep in mind, I don't really believe this, since I do tend to frown on sacrilege and all - the gods are more just a coping mechanism to living with infantile male behavior.)

I even have mental images of what these gods would look like, I will explain them to you now:

The Stomach Gods: You know all those obnoxious tiny men on the movie 'Willow' that wear animal skins and are always jabbing their little spears at things?  Those are exactly like my stomach gods.  And there's a bunch of them in there.  And they don't like to get along.

The Intestine Gods: These guys are wusses.  They don't like to work much, and are constantly complaining.  Of course most of their grumbling started after I had them horrendously smooshed by my non-stop pregnancies.  But still - get over it, and grow some muscles you pansies.

The Kidney Goddess: Clearly my kidneys are  ruled by a woman.  She's moody, and sometimes has full on raging tantrums that can end as quickly as they begin.  But most of the time, if I give her what she wants, she's happy enough.  And I'm really sure she has a legitimately reasonable excuse for her tantrums (as all women do.)

The Sinus Satyr: Things like sinuses are too small to get their own gods.  So my sinuses got a satyr instead.  This is clearly why they swell so much in the summer.  Because if hot, dirty goat hair doesn't scream "allergen" I don't know what does.

The Migraine Demon: Because I'm pretty sure they aren't caused by anything other than pure evil.  I have had the same headache for 4 days.  Sometimes it just sits in my head and waits to come screaming back at me with full force.  He is a wretched evil thing, that demon.

I probably could come up with some more, except that most of my other organs/body parts seem to work just fine.  So I guess not all of my imaginary gods are incompetent.  Just the ones that hate me.  Or the ones that Husband seems drawn to point out.

Comments

cc said…
I cracked up at the image from "Willow" - are you taking about the little "brownie" fairy guys?
Emmy said…
Lol! Great post.. though sorry you have all of those evil gods in your body :)
Jen said…
This post made me laugh. I always talk about the traffic gods, wondering how it is that I have offended them that they must curse me when I am running late.
LisAway said…
You're so much more religious than me. I hardly ever think about stuff like that.

Your husband is a dear. :)
prashant said…
I glow too even though I go outside :)
home based data entry

Popular posts from this blog

I am an artist.

I really am. But not one of those deeply moving, "what do you mean you don't understand my painting, it's BLUE" kind of artists.  I'm more like one of those "oh hey, a pen and a napkin, doodle doodle doodle" kind of artists.  Because I do it for fun.  And yeah, for money.  But still.  Fun....most of the time. But I feel like branching into new mediums.  Do you know how long it's been since I painted?  Like with something other than finger paints or the kids' water colors where all the colors are mixed so they just come out brown anyway? It's been awhile.  I've been itching to paint for months. I've also wanted to let Monkey loose on a canvas for awhile.  He's not like my other kids (who all carry mine and Husband's arty genes) who like to draw endless pictures of unicorns, princesses, transformers or dinosaurs.  Monkey likes to feel his art.  He'll probably end up being one of those deeply moving types.  And I'

I won't be offended if you answer NO to the question at the end of this post

So this post will probably lose me a lot of respect and friends and possibly even a few phone calls to the Health and Welfare department. But I just feel like posting it, it's kind of like saying it outloud, but without having to watch someone's face react to the horror. And today, I really feel the need to say it outloud. So if you read this and don't feel like being friends anymore, I get it. With everyone's kids going back to school (and our school district being the last to start in the entire world, so I'm still sitting here dealing with summer child overload) I keep reading the posts about how mothers are sad to see their kids go, and how much they're going to miss them, and how much they absolutely love motherhood. Want me to tell you what I think about motherhood? I hate it. There are times when I hate it more than any other thing on the planet. And there goes most of my friends. But I'm sorry. I do. I hate being a mother. I don't hate my c

I'm not fat, my scale just hates me.

That's what it is. It's probably an evil scale anyway.  Always lying to me.  Telling me I'm fat. The worst part about it is that the scale has also convinced all the mirrors in my house to play along.  And I know it got my pant size on board ages ago.  It's also managed to get the camera to cooperate, even though I treat that camera like one of my dear precious children.  And this evil, hateful scale has attached a big mound of blubber right on my midsection. Well guess what scale - I hate you too. ***************************************************** I think showers are a waste of time. You get in just to get all wet, emerge dripping, get a nice clean towel wet, redress yourself, figure out something to do with your crazy 'just got wet and now it's going to dry ultra fuzzy, don't even think about using a blowdryer' hair, and put on all the makeup that you just washed off even though your mascara could probably have passed for a whole extra d