A while back, I found myself dealing with an unfortunate situation: I had a rather large pimple nestled between my right butt cheek and upper thigh. Yeah, I know, not the most glamorous of topics, but hey, life happens, right?
It all started as a minor annoyance, but before long it transformed into a painful monster that made me think twice about sitting down. At the time, I was juggling grad school and family life, and my hard wooden chair wasn’t exactly helping. I don’t know if the pimple was pressing on a nerve or what, but every time I plopped down, I’d get that familiar pins and needles sensation in my leg.
I tried popping it multiple times, but the angle was always off. I wasn’t exactly a yoga master, and let’s be real, even if I had longer arms, I’d probably need extra joints to make it happen. For days, I hoped it would just vanish, but instead, it grew bigger. A painful pimple on my behind? Super embarrassing. It might have just been a pimple, but this one was like a tiny monster refusing to go away, and sitting down felt like carrying around a doll’s head in my back pocket.
After a week of futile attempts—using a few kitchen tools and even an old coat hanger—I finally had to concede defeat. I asked my wife, Sarah, for a favor that I never thought I’d utter. “Can you take a look at this butt zit?”
Yep, I went there. Because nothing says true love like asking your partner to inspect a pimple on your butt.
It was evening, the kids were asleep, and I awkwardly positioned myself on the couch, one cheek on the cushion and the other hanging off. “Are you really asking me to pop a zit on your butt?” she replied, clearly surprised.
“No, no. Just check it out. Make sure it’s not a bug or something terrible. It hurts!”
Sarah gave me a look that said she was torn. She loved me, I knew that, but she also didn’t want to be in this situation. I tried to keep it light, failing miserably. “If you can handle it, I’d be so grateful.”
Her expression was priceless. “Yeah, that’s what you’re asking,” she said, a mix of love and reluctant acceptance in her voice.
“Drop your pants,” she instructed. There I stood, pants around my ankles, leaning against the recliner, while my wife crouched down, glasses perched on her nose, inspecting my backside. She commented that the lighting was poor, and I wondered if this was a deal-breaker.
“Wow! How have you been walking? It’s huge!” she exclaimed.
“I know,” I admitted. “It’s awful.”
With a deep breath, she went in with two fingers—POP! It was done.
“Ugh… it smells!” she said, half-gagging.
“I’m so sorry!” I replied, feeling a mix of relief and shame.
“It got on my shirt,” she groaned. I could sense the humor in her frustration. “You realize how much I love you, right?”
Even though she said it jokingly, it struck me how love sometimes means doing the not-so-pleasant things for each other. Marriage isn’t always about grand romantic gestures; sometimes it’s about enduring the gross stuff to help the one you love.
I sighed in relief and told her, “You’re amazing. I love you.”
As Sarah washed her hands in the bathroom, she declared, “I’m going to need a shower. And some chocolate… lots of chocolate.”
I kissed her forehead and dashed to the store.
Family Planning Resources
In case you’re navigating the world of family planning, check out Make a Mom for at-home insemination options. Their how it works page gives you a good idea of what to expect, and they even offer a reusable insemination kit that could be useful. Plus, if you’re looking for support, you can join the Make a Mom Facebook group for a community of people on the same journey. For those in a couple’s fertility journey, this resource is valuable: Couple’s Fertility Journey. And for more info on pregnancy week by week, March of Dimes is a fantastic resource.
Summary
True love sometimes involves doing the uncomfortable and gross things for one another. Whether it’s dealing with a painful zit or navigating the journey of starting a family, love is all about support and sacrifice—even if it means asking your partner for some truly awkward favors.
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