Grease Generously

My husband Bill and I have a happy, healthy relationship based on mutual respect, trust, and understanding. We have always been comfortable discussing any topic. We freely express opinions, and we do not keep secrets from one another.

When I saw an email addressed to Bill, from a company I did not recognize, with a “rush” delivery date in the subject line, I figured it was another one of his online purchases. He’s always looking for the latest gadget. This man of mine has even purchased new and improved mouse traps for the tool shed. He spends hours thoroughly researching the pros and cons before he makes a purchase. I am not interested in his great buys, but they sure make him happy.

I no longer have to hard boil eggs on the stove in a pan of water; Bill proudly announces he’s going to cook them in his electronic cooker. There’s no more patting ground beef in the palm of his huge hands to make burgers. He has a five-piece red, plastic device that uniformly makes patties for his grill, which has more functions than a high-tech computer.

Since my guy is a late-sleeper and I am an early-riser I knew he wouldn’t mind my snooping at his “rush” email. I wanted to know what the driver of the Amazon van would soon be delivering. My eyes widened in disbelief as I read the first few words.

“Dear Mr. O, Your order for sanitary lubricant, non-toxic, edible, petrol lube has shipped ….”

I Googled the product description: Safe, edible lubricant can also be used on dairy cows.

What the heck?! We live in suburbia, not on a cattle farm. We get our milk in cartons from the big box store. Granted, my big guy does drink two and sometimes three gallons a week.

My mind was spinning scenarios, my imagination running wild, and my pulse was ramping up as I reread the email. Then I thought, “What sort of secret life has he been leading? I’d better not discover he has a secret heifer somewhere…”

I’m certain my blood pressure was sky-high by sunrise when I heard my honey waking up. I resisted my first impulse to pounce. I sat impatiently waiting for him to complete his morning routine and come into the study.

Cheerful as ever, my husband of twenty-five years, walked in and laid his big hand gently on my shoulder. He kissed my neck and said sweetly, “Good morning.”

“Laying it on thick,” my suspicious mind thought.

I swiveled around in my office chair and looked up at him. I stared straight into his eyes. “Is there something you want to talk to me about?” I maintained my composure, but inside I was quivering.

“No, not really. You doing okay?” His smile lit up his big Irish face. He ran his fingers through his curly mop. His grin faded as he waited expectantly for my reply. I continued to stare at him.

He asked, “Everything alright?”

I said, “I don’t really know. Is there something I need to know? Do you need to tell me anything?”

“I love you?”

“No!”

“You want to go out to breakfast?”

“Nope.”

“Then what? What would you like to know?” His smile faded.

“I need the truth. I want you to tell me why you ordered personal edible lubricant off the internet.” My words were thick. I was holding back hot tears, devastated by the thought of my decent, devoted husband cheating on me.

He stared. “Oh, Uhm, that…” He looked confused.

I wanted to shout, “Don’t you dare lie to me!” But instead, I said, “Do not say, ‘Uhm.’ You are using a stall tactic. Please be honest with me.”

He looked hurt. “I’ve never been dishonest with you.”

“Well?! Tell me why you need that lubricant.”

His smile broadened. “I need lubricant for the new meat slicer that was delivered yesterday. The drive gear, pivot points, and blade all need to be generously lubricated before and after using it. The brochure said to use Vaseline, but when I went to the store to purchase a jar, I read the label, which stated the product was not to be used orally. And honey, your facial expression doesn’t compare to the young pharmacist’s when I asked him if they carried edible Vaseline behind the counter. The guy was speechless. When I explained the intended use, he said, ‘Try Amazon.’”

Tears started rolling down my cheeks as I laughed myself silly with relief. I could envision the poor pharmacist, whose imagination had probably been running as wild as mine.

I am going to order my gadget man a white, bib apron for when he uses his latest device. He now purchases hunks of meats instead of prepackaged products.

We’ve eaten so much shredded ham, sliced beef, and shaved turkey, my butcher is soon going to need a new tube of lube.