This weekend was Labour Day over here. I mean Labor Day. Nothing to do with midwifes or the colour red, the first Monday in September is a federal holiday celebrated by most Americans as the symbolic end of the summer. A holiday sought to create "a day off for the working citizens" had me deciding to have a night off from my Mom/Mum job, book a babysitter and drag Him Downstairs (HD) out.
We went to see stand-up comedian Chelsea Handler. For those of you untouched by Ms Handler, she has a late night show, Chelsea Lately on the E! Channel, which is full of hilarious commentary on life and celebrities. She’s basically the lady responsible for the decline in our sex life as we’re too busy chortling (giggling for my American friends) at her in bed.
Anyhow, off we went, picnic blanket in hand, to the ‘lawn seats’ area. That means at the back. We’re far too cheap to take on full-price tickets. HD went to the bar and returned with two nice plastic glasses of beer and we felt just like we were at Glastonbury (minus the mud, bands and tents, obviously). We actually felt youthful again too. (Though am sure the many students in the audience could spot the ‘PARENTS ON A NIGHT OUT!’ signs a mile off – drunk after one beer, sensible jumpers in case we got cold, knowing laughter at all the parenting/pregnancy jokes she made etc)
Anyway, particularly amusing to us was her take on dating an Englishman and his un-circumcised manhood.
“Why do all the men in your country refuse to get circumcised? she asks the Englishman. ”It’s repulsive. They look like (f*bleep*ing) aardvarks, and I really don’t appreciate it,” she rants.
We chortled on, remembering all the hospital papers we had to sign here when Monkey was born to prevent him from getting the automatic US snip. ”Don’t forget to tick the ‘No circumcision box’ our Brit friends warned us, “Else they’ll cut him before you can say ‘ouch’. This was obviously serious stuff.
After the show, we decided to line up to get our copy of her book, Are You There Chelsea? It’s me, Vodka’ autographed. A touch excited at the thought of meeting the lady who spends every night in our bedroom, I took my place in line. HD stood to the side, camera at the ready.
“Are you an English?” Chelsea said after I said hello.
“Yes, what gave it away haha?” I replied, (trying and failing to be witty with a professional comedian) A sweat formed in my palms because I kind of new what was coming next…
‘So, you’re a fan of the circumcised?” she said. Eyebrows around us rose.
“Err, umm yesss” I said all British and mortifyingly embarrassed.
“Well gimmie a high–five for the snip sister!” she yelled.
I found myself whooping and high-fiving with her. People had stopped exiting the area and were now looking at us. “Where’s your husband?” she continues. I, (sorry HD) pointed to him. “So, sir, you haven’t been circumcised?” she shouts to him, “and you bought your aardvark over here?”
At least 50+ people are now witnessing this exchange. “Shame on you sir!” Chelsea laughs. Although the light is fading, I can literally feel HD’s cheeks burning.
“Someone’s got to like it though eh?” Chelsea winks at me and the crowd laughs. I babble an unheard “Yes, err, of course, it’s lovely,” response (no-one’s interested in what I’m saying obviously) grab my signed book and make for HD as Chelsea turns her attentions to the next fan in line.
As we walk away, a stranger who’s been witness to this exchange about my husband’s pride and joy, gives HD a look as if to say, ‘you poor unclean Brit.’
“He does shower you know!” I snap in his defense.
Later, when we were tucked up in bed, HD says, “You don’t think it looks like an aardvark do you?” I didn’t have the heart to say I thought Chelsea had a point actually, so for marital harmony instead I plumped for, “I like aardvarks.”