No Good Can Come Of A Naked Troll

Deb: With all the talk of nudity in our blog last week, I felt it was the perfect time to trot out my “nudie tale.”

When my husband and I were first married, I had an arsenal of “characters” that I would pull out when I wanted to make him laugh. Unlike my husband who just always makes me laugh. There was a myriad of subtle and varied characters, which included Willie McGee and Grip Woman. Yes. Grip Woman. One particular favourite was my troll.  Name: Troll. I would pull a sweater over my head, covering it and then, well yes, I would speak like a troll. I would say troll-like things. For example, I might say something like:

“Mighty is my hunger today, husband. Omelet will I chose to satisfy the pangs.”

Yes, I know you are judging me at this point. Go ahead. But in my defense... yeah, okay  go ahead.

What can I say? It was the silly kind of things newlyweds do.

Well, if the Troll wasn’t nuanced enough, you can only imagine what pregnancy did for it!  As I got bigger, so did the antics of the troll. I was hormonal, you see, and decided to become the Naked Pregnant Troll. So picture if you will, me, all five feet in height, weighing 95 pounds when our son was conceived, and at this point of the pregnancy, tipping the scales at 150 lbs. (I would go on to gain almost 80 pounds!)

So one afternoon, I am feeling particularly Troll-esque and bursting with a craving that I had from the moment we conceived till the baby was a year old: “Fetch for me, oh husband of my heart, a pudding dense to feed our unborn offspring and satiate me.” Or something to that effect. Did I mention we had only been married a couple of years???

Anyway, my doting husband set out on his quest for Jello Chocolate Pudding Mix, and I set to work. Naked as a newborn, I lay in wait under my bridge with Troll-like patience for my mate to return, my sweatshirt clutched in my puffy hand.

Suddenly I heard the key in the door and I chucked the sweatshirt over my head and proceeded down the spiral staircase in our apartment.

“Have you returned successful from the hunt, my mate?” Silence.

I move a little further down the spiral stairs, tilting my naked preggo self to and fro as befits a pregnant troll. “Have you returned successful from the––”

Suddenly I hear a man’s voice. Not my husband’s. Then a second voice. Not my husband’s either.

I pull the sweatshirt off my head and down to cover most of my nakedness, only to see the Superintendent and the air-conditioning guy. Flushed, awkward, and struck dumb as they face the great Troll.

I will not say I ran up the stairs because running was no longer an option. But I sure as shit waddled faster than anyone who has waddled before.

When my husband returned, he found the Super and the air guy in the living room going about their business and me in the bedroom, now COMPLETELY covered and laughing so hard I thought I would give birth. So if anyone ever asks why I don’t do the nude thing...

Barbara: OMG!!! Laughing out loud. Truly. Tears running down my face!! Deb, only you would seduce your husband impersonating a netherworld creature with bad hair.

I’m racking my brain for my own story of this ilk, but really everything just sounds lame compared to Naked Troll. But, strangely, this racking recalled another funny Deb "seduction" that I HAVE to share.

Shenanigans about to unfold...

Several years ago, our families went on a ski trip together. The kids would’ve been in their mid-teens. At the end of a glorious week on the slopes, we were getting ready to leave. The van was packed, the kids were in the back row, Deb and I were in the middle row, and the two guys were strapping the skis onto the roof. The doors beside Deb and I were open as the guys balanced on the sills to attach the straps. Deb was in a playful mood and, after a while, decided to tickle her hands up Colin’s belly as he worked. This playful hand-tickle was accompanied by the requisite singing of, “Doopy, doopy, doopy, do!”

Deb's boy toy

But all of a sudden, Colin’s face appeared next to the belly being fondled. Then we all realized: it wasn’t his belly at the mercy of Deb’s nimble fingers. In fact, it wasn’t a belly at all. It was lower. Yep, that low. Phil’s disembodied voice confirmed the case of misplaced affection. He wondered if Deb was trying to give him a “happy ending”.

Thankfully, this story also had all of us rolling on the floor with laughter. Even the kids. Still brings tears to my eyes. (Well. Maybe Colin didn’t find it so amusing…) 

Deb: OH GOD, I LOVE THIS STORY. And I am howling with laughter at the memory. My husband knows well enough that I would not add another lover to the roster. Who has the time?