Changing the Bedpans of Hot Guys

She says she would never do bedpans, but if it was a Denzel, a Pitt, or a Estevez, I bet she would.

You would change a bedpan of a hot guy in a heartbeat. Because in your head you could imagine this hot stranger unable to relieve himself in a way that pleases society.

And you could imagine a scenario where this Mr. Hot is yours.

And you'd figure that if you were married to Mr.Hot-and-always-pays-attention-to-me that one day he's eating something, and his stomach which are guarded by six pack abs is upset. Queasy. And he needs to go to the bathroom, but is unable to move because the pain in his stomach is horrible, unbearable. And if he were to dare make an Evil Kineval like attempt at clenching his thigh muscles, then to planting his feet on the ground from a sitting position to stand up to walk to the bathroom, that the very act would propel the contents of his belly all over the floor. You would watch him slowly perform a balance beam act, juggling his waste in his pants, as it trickles down one leg and then the other as he creates a trail all the way to the bathroom.

So instead of performing this stunt which he has already considered and envisioned, he says, "Baby I can't make it all the way to the toilet, take this pot which we were going to throw out anyway and place it underneath me, between my thighs. The food you made upset my 6'3 frame and I have to relieve myself in the living room." You figure that if there is any stage in a relationship where you can have your soul-mate hold your shit, literally hold your shit is when you're married.

And you do it obligingly. And as his muscles loosen, and the remnants of the dinner you cooked hit the pot and make a sound like when you empty a can of soup, you watch his intestine processed meal yellow the glistening diamond ring he bought you and browning of your wedding dress that you can't help take off because it makes you remember why you love him, you sigh and remember how happy you are, and you tell yourself you don't have to think of how happy you are because you always are, and that your Facebook status should remain, “I'm happy” for the rest of your life.

However.

One day you’ll tell your girlfriend about this incident, confiding in the most Fort Knox Secret Keeper of all BFFS, but the story would be too juicy to contain so it goes viral. She tells all your girlfriends. And they are able to do a Reverse Fort Knox by keeping the secret that they know about your husband’s incident to themselves and you go about your days never knowing that they know.

So, one day you are waiting for your Mr. Handsome, Mr. Great-Personality which you married to, to pick you and your friends up and one of your girlfriends will say "Why is Mr. My-mom loves him late?" And another girlfriend will text all the girlfriends who are present and waiting for your Prince holds-doors open and text all five of them “Because He Can’t” and they will giggle behind your back because she texts this after you say “Why can't Mr. Loves-to-kill-spiders get his shit together.”