What’s in the box?

This is a story by request. So, before I get started I wanted to let you know that if you remember something particularly embarrassing that I may have buried somewhere deep in my subconscious, you can remind me and I will most likely post it for others enjoyment…. maybe.

December 2007. A stressful month for me. I had finals for my second to last semester of college, Christmas was coming and this was the month that I going to propose to my wife. But, something else happened this month that would change my life forever (ooh, now I have your attention).

First, understand that every car my wife drives falls apart quickly. It isn’t her fault (most of the time) it is just one of those weird things. She had a breakdown (her car, not mental… this time) in December while making a trip back to Minneapolis from Brainerd, MN… about half way between the two. The tow truck brought her car to the classic truck stop at the exit for Silver Creek and Hasty (towns that may or may not actually exist). It has showers in the bathroom, a wide selection of adult magazines and more cheap souvenirs and nic nacs the tempt me every time I have found myself inside.

With Christmas approaching we would be heading back to Brainerd to celebrate with our families. Since her brother was headed to Brainerd, my wife asked him to pick up a couple of things out of the car to bring back to Brainerd for her, preventing an extra trip for us. Like the terrific brother he is, he said he would.

About a week went by, when one afternoon I received a text message from my future mother in law.

This was a rare occurrence because it usually meant that she couldn’t get in touch my wife. At which point I begin to feel extremely anxious and create about one hundred scenarios in which she has been injured, kidnapped or killed (it is a miracle that I don’t have gray hair or an ulcer). I flipped open my phone (remember when they did that?!) and read the text.

What do you want me to do with your box of porn?

I had to read this a couple of times… My mother in law does have an interesting sense of humor so I made the decision to play along and said…

Keep it! I thought you and your husband could use it…

I waited for her response. And waited. And waited.

Now, I should let you know that I have never owned a box of porn. Like all other members of Generation Y, I know that the Internet is infinite box of porn that fits in my computer.

The anxiety shifted, my chest got tight and my palms started to sweat… Soon I would ask these people for permission to spend the rest of my life with their daughter, and I’m making sex jokes (you would think that I had a foot fetish given how often I firmly jam my foot into my mouth).

I called my wife, explained the situation and she said she would see what was going on.

I waited. Again, alone with my thoughts (which is obviously a dangerous thing). I started to wonder, do I have a box of porn that I forgot about? Why did I leave it in my wife’s car? What if she brings it to my parents house? What is wrong with me? 

As it turns out, my brother-in-law dropped off the things from my wife’s car… Including a box full of porn videos and sex toys.

Why did they think it was mine?

The box and its contents had my name written all over it, literally.

Now, let’s pretend for a moment that I did have a giant box of sex. Why would I put my name on it?

My mother in law’s answer – “You lived in that house with all those boys, I thought you wanted to keep track of it.”

I don’t know why it is so easy for people to assume that I am this bad, weird depraved, cheating (see previous posts to learn why my own mother thought I was cheating my way through college), sex crazed person… but it doesn’t seem to be a stretch for them. Somehow, she was convinced that me and my roommates would all just share porn and sex toys like some big bisexual brothel. I don’t know why it was so easy to jump to this conclusion… but, I suppose some questions are better left on asked.

Next (again, assuming that the box was in fact mine), was it really appropriate to open and rummage through the box in front of the entire family, including grand parents?

No, especially since half of the family referred to me as “that boy” for years.

Unfortunately, I never got the chance to see the box. The only specifics that I can remember is that there were, um, anal beads inside the box. They all went through the box of sex laughing at me not knowing that this was a joke. That NONE of the things they were looking at belonged to me.

Eventually everything got straightened out and I was able to clear my name (some of my in-laws actually call me Tim now). But, questions still remain that have yet to be answered…

To my brother-in-law – where did the contents of the box come from? Why did you have all of these things, specifically anal beads? Everyone was so busy laughing at your practical joke they didn’t think to question deviant that was in the room with them…

To my mother in law – what ever happened to that box? I know I don’t have it…

Cheers.

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