We recently uprooted ourselves from all that is familiar and secure and landed ourselves in the heart of the South. Having been deemed, “The Utah Transplants” in our new ward, my husband of five years, two small children and my twenty-five year old self are acclimating to Southern living. With my heart longing for ‘home’, I am determined to create a happy life here.
Andrew’s Home Remedy
While observing Andrew administer a swab of an over-the-counter medicine to a small rash on his leg, I patiently fight an urge to tell him he’s wasting his time. My patience wanes as I see the concern on his face. From my bed, I call to him where he’s standing in our bathroom,
“Andrew,” I wait for him to acknowledge my presence. “Last time you had that rash, it didn’t go away until you took an oral antibiotic.”
Without a word, he returns to the tube of cream.
“If you want my opinion,” I smile to myself as I privately acknowledge that he isn’t interested in my opinion. “If you want my opinion,” I repeat, “I think you’re wasting your time with that cream. Besides, I can smell it from here. You are needlessly polluting our living quarters.” I look over at my innocent child, who is peacefully sleeping next to me. I frown as I imagine his perfectly formed lungs inhaling the stink.
To my surprise, Andrew makes his way towards me. Looking down on at me he asks,
“Really? Was it the antibiotic that cured it last time?” With certainty, I meet his gaze and reply,
“Yup.”
“Well, I’m not too concerned. First of all, the rash itself is small. It’s not getting worse. In addition to that creme, I’ve been putting Tilex on it each time I shower.” He states in a matter of fact tone.
All traces of my lingering sleepiness immediately dissipates.
Mr. Portokalos, My Big Fat Greek Wedding
For those who haven’t seen the movie, My Big Fat Greek Wedding, allow me to explain one character, whom it would seem, relates well to my husband. The father of the bride is deeply set in his Greek beliefs and traditions. However, one American custom that he completely endorses is the fighting power of Windex.
It is his multi use, cure-all for everything under the sun: paper cuts, burns, a pimple – you name it! As the mental comparisons begin, my thoughts are disrupted with his continued explanation.
“Well, I was reading on the Internet”
“The Internet,” I scoff. “… always a reliable source.” My interruption is dripping with sarcasm.
“It says that wrestlers use bleach to help with rashes. And, well, Tilex is the closest thing we have to bleach.” He sheepishly admits. I’m in total disbelief. I don’t know if I should be concerned or if I should allow myself to laugh out loud.
Yes, I was surprised when I discovered the Tilex in our shower. I had assumed with pleasure that Andrew had nominated himself to be the daily conqueror of the unwelcome mold infested corners (gross, I know). But I was wrong. It was being used for medicinal purposes instead.
I shuddered.
Deciding that I would endorse the need for him to be placed on an antibiotic later, I looked up at him, suppressing my giggles and innocently asked,
“Honey? Can I blog about this?”
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