My Wife, The Flasher

My Wife, The Flasher

While Twitter is fantastic for short, off the cuff messages about what’s happening. Sometimes one-hundred forty characters just isn’t enough to give an accurate picture of the situation and gems like the following clearly scream for clarification.

Accidentally made @trevaolivero flash the neighborhood. Sorry ’bout that Babe

First, a little backstory. For those of you who don’t know, due to one to many encounters with Rippy the Gator*, Treva had her right leg amputated above the knee some years ago. She doesn’t currently wear a prostesis because of the inept incompetance of the last tech who tried fitting her for one, and she can’t walk all that far even with it on.

She had agreed to babysit for our friends’ son AJ last night, and being the dedicated husband/shirpa that I am, I went along with the explicit understanding that “I don’t do diapers”.

In typical Baltimore fashion our friends house has about eight steps leading to the front door broken into two groups separated by a landing. Our usual technique for getting up and down the stairs is executed with her placing her stump on my bent thigh, which is on the step she will be moving to, my arms wrapped around her waist for support and her hopping to that step. Normally, to avoid either of us, terminal clutses that we are, tripping on her loose pantleg one of us holds onto it. Yesterday she was wearing a skirt. I figured it might be a good idea to keep it pulled up like I usually do with her pants. Unfortunately, I had only grabbed the front half of the garment when I lifted it to her waist.

Treva: “You’re holding up my skirt.”

Me (well duh, I’m trying to help here): “Yeah. I know. I figured it would help.”

Treva: “no, you’re only holding up part of it.”

Me (huh) “What are you…” *rechecks positioning of hands, lets skirt fall down* “Oh, um, right. Sorry about that.” *jauntily waves to the neighbors and hopes she isn’t thinking of ways to slay my manhood in revenge*

Obviously, to protect the woman from me I need to:


  1. Invent a wheelchair with a hovercraft function;

  2. Beef up my muscles so I can carry her; or

  3. find a one man stairchair that fits in a backpack

* If she would like to dispute my version of events, she’s free to break her silence on this blog and do so lest I decide to drop her as an associate and change the name :-).

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