The ways in which I torment my husband

I’m a believer in calling things as they are.

Bill Maher? Stupid.

Breastfeeding in public? Totally not a problem.

That little thingy that hangs down between a boy’s legs? Penis.

NOT pee pee, wee wee, winky, schlongydong or whatever other cutie-pie name you come up with for it. I think those cutie-pie names are just confusing for kids.

And so, when that “topic” comes up, I use the appropriate word.

The other evening, CJ had discovered that it was awfully funny to walk around with his little friend popping out from the top of his pants.

“Mom, Dad! Look at me! HA HA HA HA HA HA!”

Jay and I look at each other and TRY not to laugh.

“That’s actually not funny, CJ.” I say, “now put your penis away.”

Jay looks at me in wide-eyed horror. “WHAT did you just say?”

“Umm… I told him to put it away. Would you rather he walk around like that?”

“No, not that… you called it a…” (he shudders) “penis. Don’t call it that!”

My eyes widen in disbelief. “Seriously? But that’s what it is.”

“I don’t care. I HATE that word.”

Interesting. I can DEFINITELY find a use for this information.

“Sooo… what should I call it?” I ask.

“I don’t know… wiener?”

BWAH HA HA HA HA HA HA

Now it’s MY turn to laugh.

Fast forward a day or two. Jay is lying in bed, in a blissful state somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. I lean over, position my lips next to his ear and whisper in a sultry tone, “PENIS!”

“JENNNNNNNNNN!” he howls in bitter regret at having told his evil wife his deepest darkest secret.

He turns away from me and pulls the blanket up over his head, and I giggle.

Oh, the joy of this discovery will never end.

(evil laughter)

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