I was in the dining room, helping my son with a school project, when my wife hurried up to me and grabbed my hand. She clamped my hand over her left breast. She was clearly alarmed.
WIFE: “Feel that. My boob feels like it’s on fire!”
She had on a sweater over her shirt, but I could still feel that it was hot. It was very hot, chemical reaction hot.
ME: “Is it just the one?”
WIFE: “Yes. The other one’s fine.”
She lifted up her shirt and put my hand on top of her bra. We’re married and everything, so there was no danger of this act leading to anything sexual.
WIFE: “What’s going on with my boob?”
I could see a wet spot on her bra.
ME: “Is it sweating?”
WIFE: “I don’t think so.”
She stretched her bra and sniffed the wet spot.
WIFE: “It doesn’t smell like sweat.”
I sniffed it.
ME: “No. It kinda smells like pork.”
I pulled her sweater back down and noticed that the wet spot went through.
ME: “Did you spill something hot on yourself?”
WIFE: “I don’t think so. I was just cutting up an apple for the baby.”
ME: “Show me what you did.”
She led me into the kitchen and pointed to the fruit bowl on the shelf above the counter.
WIFE: “I just got an apple out and started cutting it up.”
In front of the fruit bowl, the crock pot sat on the counter, gurgling hot little bubbles in the condensed water around the edge of its rattling lid as it slow cooked a pork roast.
ME: “You leaned over the crock pot to reach the apple, didn’t you?”
WIFE: (Relieved) “But why didn’t I get burned right away?”
ME: “It took a minute for it to soak through to the skin. Your boob got slow cooked.”
WIFE: “That’s why my bra smells like pork.”
ME: “I sure hope so.”