Note to Mr. Handsome: Read this post at your own risk. Don't blame me if you fall over in a dead syncopic episode due to extreme prudishness.
I've finally figured out a way to totally gross out Mr. Handsome, and make him pray for freedom from the chains of marriage.
You may think that an odd statement regarding one's spousal unit, but then, you obviously just don't know enough about Mr. Handsome's and my relationship, for our relationship is entirely based on one-uppance. And that is why it's worked for so many years. Either that, or we're insane, which is probably very true as well.
Every week at school, we have a class called Medical Terminology, whereby we have to study some body system, learn the spelling and meaning of all the words, and then spew them out during the weekly test. So much fun. Seriously.
Especially when said system for the week is the male reproductive system, in all its infinite glory.
The other evening, I sat down to go over the chapter, which includes some dictation words that we can play on a CD and then spell. Very helpful when you're dealing with complicated medical terms that have too many consonants, which obviously means the scientist who came up with the term was on waaay too many drugs. Or was Polish. Probably both.
So, there I was, INNOCENTLY reading about the male reproductive system and all its comings and goings, when Mr. Handsome suddenly stated, in no uncertain terms, "Don't you think that's a bit inappropriate?"
And I said, "What? What's inappropriate? Words about the male reproductive system, you mean? Why would that be inappropriate, sweetheart? They're just words, and they're just body parts."
Mr. Handsome didn't go for it. So, I kept on reading, and once in a while, a word would come tumbling out of my mouth, totally out of the blue, as if my subconscious were somehow trying to irk Mr. Handsome to no end. Mr. Handsome was watching poker on the television (apparently that's all that's on when he watches tv), and in-between hands, or while the cards were being shuffled, he would hear words like "bulbourethral gland", and "ductus deferens", or "prepuce".
I heard Mr. Handsome's throat clear, and looked up to find him staring at me, a look of unhappiness across his face. He clearly wanted me to fail.
So, I closed my book, walked over to my laptop, and switched on my medical terminology program for the dictation portion.
Silence enveloped the room, and all that could be heard was the poker game on t.v. Poker is gibberish to me (I am most probably the world's worst card player in history), and in my head, it all sounds like the adults in a Charlie Brown classic at Christmas or Hallowe'en.
So, while the hands were being played, I did my dictation. Suddenly, the poker game was studded with male reproductive terms that were exclaimed loudly throughout the first floor of the house for everyone to hear (did I mention that I STILL can't hear well out of my left ear, hence the loud volume?).
Mr. Handsome turned around, but because he has no flexibility (literally AND figuratively, obviously), he couldn't quite see me.
The television goes off.
He gets up and looks at me, then walks toward the stairs.
I know Mr. Handsome's going to read this post, and not speak to me for a day. I also know I'm going to get perfect marks in this week's test, which is all that matters, guys.