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How I Am Trying to Make My Husband Jealous

September 6, 2016

 

Day One of trying to make my husband jealous.  I bought some men's cologne and sprayed it on.  We'll see what he says when he comes home.

Reaction - Nothing. 

 

Day Two - I increased the amount, sprayed my hair with it, too.  We will see.

Reaction - Nothing.  Can he not smell?

 

Day Three - Will try same again.

Reaction - Nothing.

 

Day Four - Time for serious action.  I just sprayed my side of the bed with the cologne.  With a great deal of it! Now he has to notice!!!

Days Five

and Six - ...mysteriously texting...

Fail  Subject did not notice; glued to his computer games as always.

 

Day Seven - Will be taking my cell phone into the bathroom/when I walk the dog/when I go out to sit on the beach and tell him that I need some alone time...

Will report tomorrow.

Fail  He was taking a nap when I returned.

 

Day Eight - I decided that I'm going to the prestigious Kahala Mall tomorrow and buy a pair of men's expensive boxer shorts to leave in the bed (my husband wears tighty-whities).  What size to get, though?  For today, I'm spraying his pillow with the men's cologne.  Last night, I thought I was making progress.  I heard him ask, "Do you want to go out?"

But it turned out that he was talking to the dog...

 

Day Nine - I bought size medium.  I thought that would be appropriate.  The problem was, I put them too far down in the bed; his feet must have pushed them to the foot of the bed. He said nothing and began snoring.  I laid awake for awhile, then I went to sleep, too.  Perhaps he would discover them during the night, and there would be a great uproar and many questions!

Fail

 

Day Ten - In the morning, I found the boxer shorts in the dog's bed, all chewed up beyond any recognition.  Now a few chews might have been fortuitous, but this thing was totally destroyed.

Fail

 

Day Eleven - I'm not particularly proud of this last attempt, and I can defend myself by saying I saw the same action on a comedy show for teenagers.  A show that consistently "pushed the envelope," so to speak.  So I took some hand lotion and put it on the sheet, then mussed the bed up.  He came home, dinnertime passed quietly, then there were the obligatory t.v. shows for old people, the ones whose commercials include those for Depends, Alert devices to be hung around the neck (and when activated, attract handsome medics; what a selling point!!!) and wheelchairs that defy gravity and are able to climb stairs (forget Viagra, it's too late for that, unless you have a defibrillator hanging in the bedroom).  The evening passed excruciatingly slowly.  

 

Finally, bedtime came.  I crawled onto my side of the bed and waited.  The minutes crawled past.  He had to finish his last checkers game on the computer with his imaginary friends.  Then, he went to the bathroom, turned out all the lights, and retired for the night. 

 

As he settled himself on his side of the bed, he hit the target (I had learned where to place the evidence by now).  At the same time, the dog jumped under the covers, searching for a new toy-toy, hoping for a score like the previous night.

 

My husband sprang up.  I stuffed the comforter in my mouth to muffle my laughter.

.

"What?!"  he shrieked.  I thought, yes!

 

"What is this?"  

 

"Smell it," I offered, bluffing; it was lavender and vanilla hand lotion.

 

"I'm not going to smell it," he shrieked.  "I know exactly what it is!"

 

Paydirt!!!!!!!  

 

"The fucking dog puked on the bed!  Goddamn it!"  I saw lights go on in the neighbor's house.  Oh, no, no, this was not on the right track at all.  Desperate, I suggested that he might be wrong, he really should take a whiff of it.

 

The dog, hysterical, had fled the scene, long ago, but he was able to capture her by feinting and parrying around the living room furniture.  I had not seen him move so fast in years.  He put the poor creature in her crate for the night.

 

"She's not even supposed to be on the bed," he bitterly cried.

 

He cleaned the mess up, still not smelling the fantastic fragrance.  (See, now I know his smeller doesn't work anymore...)  He threw a towel over it and went to sleep, grumbling.

 

Major fail and end of experiment 

 

The next day, I couldn't meet the dog's accusing eyes.  In hopes of getting back on her good side, I went to Walmart and bought her a new toy-toy.  This one only cost $1.97 instead of $59.99, and this one has a squeaker in it.

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