Roll-Up: The Exercise That Exposed My Husband’s Junk and Brought Boundless Laughter to Our Bedroom

Chill folks. I am so over Shades of Grey. Ok, she has orgasms. Repeatedly, I get it. I just can’t read about it anymore. This is NOT that kind of story.

Last Thursday night, our bedroom did not say “Christian Grey.” It resounded more of….Ben Stiller, Steve Carrell, and maybe Vince Vaughn all rolled into one.

Much to Chris’ disgust, I pay a personal trainer handsomely to “get me into shape.” Really, she more gets my lazy ass to exercise when I would rather blog in my pajamas. Denise is awesome. Every time we meet she shows me a new “move.” Every time she leaves, I stand taller, step lighter and oh, about 24 hours later, curse the day she was born.

Thursday’s exercise was a roll-up. Basically, you start out standing up-right in the middle of an open space (preferably not in the basement where there is a concrete slab-I learned that the hard way.)  You then start to sit as if a chair was behind you and then literally fall backwards to the floor. Using the momentum from the fall you quickly rock back on your butt, throw your arms and legs up and roll forward onto your feet where you then spring quickly to a standing position.

Needless to say, I did no springing. My roll-up made Haddie and her friend Ashley giggle till they were both on the floor in a pile next to me.

That night, as we lay in bed, Chris clad in his underwear, absently flicking the remote, I mentioned it to him. “Huh? That sounds so easy!!”  As Maisy would say: OH-NO-HE-DIIIIIIIIIIIINT!!

“Ok, then hot shot, lets see you do it!” I challenged.  Had I considered his clothing (or lack of) I might not have thrown the gauntlet down so quickly. Nonetheless,  my adorable, fit, but uncoordinated husband sprang right out of that bed.

Per my instruction he stood in the middle of the floor and….BOOM! He crashed down, flailed his arm around like a drowning trapeze artist, rocked sideways, and in an attempt to stand up ended up flat on his back, arms and legs splayed out in a giant X.  For those of you unversed in men’s undergarments, boxers really do very little containing of the genitals. That was made painfully, unmistakeably, and in full color clear to me on Thursday night.

When I finally could breathe again, I asked gently: “Um, sweetie, next time you do that, could you put some pants on? I am not sure I can handle that much manliness all in one view.”

PS: If you see my husband, lets keep this little story-poo between us, shall we?

Comments

  1. Krista says:

    omg….literally LOL…promise to keep the story secret but can’t promise not to have a big smile on my face next time I see him!

  2. Jeanie says:

    oh my gosh, I am LMAO……what a story. I promise if I run into you and Chris, I won’t say a word. Men are so sensitive!!!

  3. Theresa says:

    Love it!

  4. Anonymous says:

    So glad everyone enjoyed this story. It makes the pain I am enduring from my wounded husband tolerable!!

Trackbacks

  1. [...] Sandy and I sat together and chatted nervously. I had coffee from the Flavia machine after standing there for ten minutes trying to figure out how it worked. Finally, I was rescued by a lovely hospital employee. Sam not only made my cup, but she was also happy to point out that she reads my blog. After failing to shrink into the wall, I returned to my seat and the slide show of some lady’s grand children. As I smiled and nodded, I felt the entire staff of the cardiac center staring at me. Why, why did I have to write about my husband’s “junk?” [...]

%d bloggers like this: