Editor’s note: What follows is exactly true. And that I managed to survive and tell this tale is nothing short of a miracle.
Relationships are hard. Anyone that has survived one or failed at one will tell you that. I can attest to that, having failed at many. There are times when you wanna squeeze a person so hard that all the air leaves their body, and there are times that you want to squeeze a person so hard that all the air leaves their body. I can also attest to this fact, as I have felt both ways about the person in my life. Ups and Downs. Highs and Lows. We’d been in a mid-low range when HE said the words that would inevitably alter our course forever:
“I’m experiencing some discomfort. I think I need a colonic. Would you schedule one for me?”
Now, immediately, we discuss his issues and the best method of addressing them. I shared with him my own experience with a colonic so he would know what to expect, although I dont think you can ever fully prepare someone, especially a man, to get violated in such a way. Nonetheless, he wasn’t feeling well and felt that this was something he wanted to do. Something he wanted to do so much, that he couldnt wait for me to fulfill his request, he booked it himself. I asked him if it was a closed system or an open one. He had no idea. Anyone that has ever had a colonic knows that open vs. closed is an important factor when deciding to get a colonic, but hey…he’s a man. Fast forward to the day of the main event….I asked if he wanted me to go with him, and he nonchalantly told me yeah…if I wanted. Now, again, I’ve been through this and I knew he had not. So of course I went. Best decision since I decided to jettison nursing school and take a part time job at a news organization where I made so little money, I was basically paying to go to work. Upon our arrival, I asked the receptor (is that what we call a male receptionist?) if the system was closed or open. He told me it was closed. My eyes danced with glee at this information. Again, I asked my beloved, who was just acting like a fucking crabapple in the car on the way cuz HE was running late, if he wanted me to go in the room with him, and as nonchalantly as before, he told me yeah…if I wanted. I almost broke out in a praise dance, SO crushing was the anticipation. I felt the way one possibly feels the night before their wedding or someone tells them that they have gathered 1000 pigeons in a box wired with C4 just waiting for you to detonate it. Don’t do that. I’m not the only one that wants to kill pigeons.
We go on in the dimly lit room, with Gregory Abbott Pandora playing in the background, and he is told by a lovely woman with a GREAT crochet job, to go into the bathrooom and disrobe from the waist down, which he does. He comes out, hops up on the table and lays down. She begins to explain the procedure to him and shows him my new best friend….THE TUBE. Pause. Now….in the open system, you lay on a lovely table with a very small tube that goes in to your anus.
Nope….he had the good old fashioned type.
The technician, instructs him to take deep breaths, and I moved into position. Back behind him. His back to my chest. Think Lamaze.
“Keep breathing,” she said.
“WAIT!” he screamed out in anticipatory agony.
“Thank you God,” I pettily thought to myself. “Aint my fault this fool wanna holler at me again cuz he booked a 345 appointment knowing he dont get off until 330.”
And then….with the strength of Zeus, Hercules, Sojourner Truth, Attila the Hun, The Octomom, Andre the Giant and this dude , this muthafucka reached behind himself and almost ripped my head off when that tube entered his body. He broke out in a sweat that would have filled the Seven Seas. All them African villages Jay-Z provides with clean water would have had no worries for the rest of time. They would start sending water to other countries, with my baby’s sweat acting as an eternal water source. God bless his soul. I sprang into action, wetting paper towels with which to wipe his brow and keep him cool. I was the CONSUMMATE proud dad cheering his wife on in childbirth. “You’re doing great bae.” “Just breathe…keep breathing.” “Look at me…Im right here.” “I got you, you are doing so well.” I massaged his weary shoulders. I rubbed his wavy hair. Mid-colonic, he looked up at me with so much love in his eyes, so much truth, and earnestly said “Babe, I promise, I will never ask you for anal again.” Me and the tech looked at each other. She said to me, “My husband said the same thing during his first colonic!” The room erupted in laughter….except for one person. BAE — poor, sweet, was just snapping at me 45 minutes ago Bae –so traumatized….so bruised, so broken….laughter and joy were emotions that were once his BFFs, but now felt like strangers to him. As for me, I thought of every argument, every time he sent me to voicemail, every time he took his frustrations out on me, everytime he was late, everytime he made me watch him play pool on his phone, everytime I caught him lying, everytime he talked shit while I was watching the Real Housewives of Love and Hip Hop who Snapped. And I smiled…..I smiled yall. I swaaaaaaaaaayed to the music softly playing. I swayed yall. Behind his sweaty back, I smiled and I swayed. 30 minutes for me and an eternity for him, it was finally over. Tech left. He staggered to the bathroom to dress himself, as I Shazammed the 3rd song on the Gregory Abbott Pandora – they was seriously jammin up in there.
He came out….loved on me, profusely. Thanked me for my support.
Its nothing babe. Nothing at all. Im here for you. Always will be. SMOOCHES.
Ladies, if you have believed nothing I have EVER told you, believe me this…..if you’re manse is full of shit, literally or figuratively, schedule his ass a closed system colonic – a girlfriends best revenge, and thank me later.