Oh my God, I have never laughed so hard in my entire life.
Last night, my husband decided to take some Ex-Lax. Fast forward to this morning… and, well, things started going down. Like, literally. He looked at the packaging and suddenly realized that when it said to eat “1–2 squares,” it meant the tiny little squares—not an entire block.
He had eaten 12 doses.
(Husband, baby, I get where the mistake happened. That whole chocolate block wrapped up like one dose, flipped backwards like it was… I see it. But good Lord, I cannot even.)
So there I am, calling Poison Control because he was genuinely convinced he was dying, and I’m losing it. I am laughing so hard, I can barely talk. The guy on the other end probably thought it was some kind of prank call. Honestly, I hope they record their calls, because thinking about me trying to explain that my 39-year-old husband just ate an entire brick of Ex-Lax still makes me wheeze.
The calm, professional voice on the other end goes, “The biggest risks are cramping, dehydration, and diaper rash.”
DIAPER RASH.
I swear, I completely lost it. The Poison Control guy stayed calm, asking, “How old is your husband?” And I laugh-wailed, “Thirty NINE!”
I was not ready for someone to calmly tell me that my almost-forty-year-old husband might need diaper rash cream. My husband, naturally, was furious—from the bathroom, of course. And the guy on the phone, still chuckling, goes, “Oh boy. Oooooooh boy. You’ll need some Desitin.”
I am dead.
I am not equipped to handle this kind of crisis. I know it could have been serious, but… oh my God. And the funniest part? My husband genuinely thought he had only taken a half dose because he only ate one bar.
He described the moment the “Ex-Lax apocalypse” hit him as violent, immediate, and undeniable. He knew instantly something was wrong. He grabbed the box and read it like that scene in Into the Wild when Chris McCandless realizes he’s eaten the wrong berries and is about to die.
He’s going to be fine, of course. But I am still crying with laughter. I cannot even drink my latte because I keep choking, laughing so hard I end up spitting it back into my mug. I had to lie down sideways in a restaurant booth because I couldn’t breathe, three full hours later. On the Poison Control call, I kept clearing my throat, trying to sound serious: “Ahem. Okay, I know this is serious. Please continue. AHAHAHAHAHA!!!”
And somehow—somehow—he let me share this story. I have no idea why. All I know is… it’s a gift to the universe.
