This past June was our 14 year anniversary. Quite a feat, in my opinion, seeing as these days it seems that relationships don’t last longer than 14 months. And for all those folk out there opposing gay marriage, we have been legally married for 6 years now and the world haven’t ended, society haven’t gone to shit and the only people destroying the sanctity of marriage are those folks who are getting divorced. Something that also is not the gays fault. But I digress... Like any proper gay couple hubby and I decided to celebrate our anniversary at a fancy French restaurant, have a ridiculously expensive meal and then go back home and have some romantic sexy time in front of the fireplace. But as fate would have it that is not what happened.
You see, in my life nothing ever works out as planned and like I have said so many times before - optimism has never served me well! Firstly, some freak show in the USA predicted that the rapture was scheduled on the same day as our anniversary, which I thought was quite inconsiderate as I always thought Jesus would return on a Sunday. Secondly, on Saturday we discovered with quite a shock that we had a termite/ant infestation and the fuckers had constructed elaborate villages around our swimming pool pump and various other places. To be honest, I didn’t pay much attention to the rapture but I did freak out about our bug invasion. So hubby and I promptly decided to go and get some toxic compound so that we could make like Saddam Hussein and start our own campaign of terror and release our weapon of mass destruction.
An hour later we returned home with our poison ready to commence with Operation Genocide. Hubby diluted to compound and off we went and sprayed the hell out of their nests; a procedure first done by hubby and then repeated by myself 30 minutes later. Having confirmed our status of being on top of the food chain and Queens of our own yard, we were satisfied that the little invaders were dying and our problem was solved. So we showered, made ourselves pretty and set off for a romantic night of good food and romance. For once the lady that lives in my GPS gave us proper direction and we arrived at the restaurant only 7 minutes late, not that the hostess noticed. And our romantic evening was off to a great start.
We opted for the restaurant’s 5 course tasting menu inclusive of wine and the first 3 courses were absolutely scrumptious. After our 3rd course we had to go and stand outside in the cold in order for me to have a cigarette (I hate South Africa’s stupid smoking laws and yes I am still smoking). Admiring the view and puffing away our romantic evening come to an abrupt halt with me suddenly falling ill. My stomach was turning and I needed to get to the loo as I was nanoseconds away from shitting my pants! The gentleman that my husband is he took my coat, and off I rushed to the toilet trying to get there in a dignified manner. Half way there I decided screw dignified and leaped into a sprint and almost didn’t make it in time! A good few minutes past before I managed to return to our table looking pale, feeling lightheaded and no longer feeling fabulous and sexy, but rather flat and almost soiled. Hubby looked concerned, but I was determined not to have our evening spoiled by whatever it was that I was afflicted with.
We finished the last two courses, paid the check and then drove home. At home my condition continued to deteriorate. I thought I had food poising and blamed the two minute noodles I had for lunch earlier that day. All astronomical food related illnesses I had suffered always, in one way or another, involved noodles. There was to be no sexy time for us and what followed was shit, literally! This Queen spend the better part of Saturday evening and early hours of Sunday morning on my throne crapping. As my bowels were being ravished and my sphincter not getting the kind of attention it was anticipating my mind drifted to thoughts about the rapture that was scheduled for 2am in my time zone.
At 1:30am I was asking myself many important life changing questions. Was this my apocalypse? Am I being ruptured through my anus? Or is the rapture going to occur through my anus and was I busy making room? Is this how I would like to meet Jesus, with my pants down sitting on the toilet with my BlackBerry Tweeting? If so God really had a strange sense of humor and I knew that he has a plan for my life but I couldn’t figure out how this fits into it. I am sure that at that point I was dehydrated and therefore also a tad irrational. At around 2am I was all crapped out and fell into bed wondering whether I should be wearing adult diapers. With that my last thought I fell asleep with hubby’s comforting arms tightly wrapped around me.
Waking up Sunday morning, the world was still there and the rapture did not occur sucking worthy Christians into my ass on route to heaven. I was still feeling weak but the diarrhea had stopped. It was a bit later during the day that we figured out what had happened that made me sick. I was poisoned but it wasn’t food poisoning – it was fucking ant poison!!! It seems that when I went in for phase two of Operation Genocide I accidentally poisoned myself. Either by breathing in the vapor or by getting some of liquid on my hands because I was smoking and so inevitably I ingested it. So what’s the moral of the story – don’t smoke and kill, always wear latex gloves when dealing with poison and don’t attempt pest control yourself; rather hire a professional!
Yes, our anniversary didn’t quite go as planned and our 14th anniversary is now known as the year I accidentally poisoned myself. I am sure in 10 years time I will be able to laugh about it, but for now it still isn’t very funny. More upsetting is the fact that the fuckers for who the poison was intended are still alive, they are still building their little taunting towers and diligently digging up our paving. But they will die this week, I promise you that much! I’m getting out a professional ant/termite Terminator. For them the apocalypse is nigh and their rapture will not be through my asshole.