Friday, October 14, 2005

Single Malt Jock Strap*

Sixteen year's ago today, my husband and I went out on our first date.

And trust me, since then, we've had our ups and downs. We've had our arguments, our make-ups, our special moments, and our issues. But in all that time, there is only one thing about him that I just cannot forgive, forget, or let go.

My husband is an athlete. Twelve years ago, he was playing for his college hockey team. I remember at the time that his dorm room smelled like, well, it smelled like sweaty, moldy jock straps. After every practice and game, he would heave his hockey bag full of sweaty equipment up on a shelf, and forget about it until his next time on the ice.

And while the smell wasn't pleasant, I guess I got used to it.

Okay. That's a lie. His friends demanded that he get rid of the smell because it was stinking up his whole floor. And I demanded that he keep his bag in his car, if he wasn't going to air it out. At least we could use my car to get from place to place.

But then, well. We got married. And somehow, that hockey bag got into my home!

For a long time, he kept it in his Explorer. But when his truck got to be unbearable, he moved the bag into the attic.

But that smell, I tell you, it wafted right down those stairs.

So last year, while he was deployed, I decided to break out his bag, clean all of his equipment, and solve the Conflict of the Stinky Hockey Bag once and for all.

And that is when I learned something about my husband that is so horrific, I'm not even sure I can share it here.

Oh, who am I kidding? Of course I can.

You see, the thing is...he only owns one jock strap. And he's owned the same jock strap since at least college. And it is the only one he's ever worn. And he's never washed it.

Never.

I pulled that thing out of his bag with a pair of kitchen tongs. I gingerly fished out the cup. And I flung the disgusting mess into the washing machine.

I used detergent. I used softener. I used bleach.

And you know what? None of those things will remove the twelve year's of accumulated sweat of one Tuna Hubby.

Hockey season starts next week. He's bought new skates and a new jersey. But has he purchased a new jock strap? I doubt it.

The War of the Jock Strap has begun anew.

*Title courtesy of Patrick, who knows about these things.

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