This post contains derogatory language. If you have a problem with that? B-bye, now!
The Mister has a spot high on his right cheekbone that is perpetually missed when he shaves. Unless, of course, he is showering with me while he shaves. Because I’m a little OCD about pointing out all the places he might be forgetting. This annoys him slightly (Woman! I’ve been shaving since before you were born!), but at least I know that if *his* razor is anywhere in *my* vicinity, the hair he typically sports there will be…
It’ll be bare.
But let’s not split hairs. 😉
I tell you this, dear reader, so that you will have some idea of what I’m talking about when the term ‘face pubes’ appears later in this post. Because that’s what I call the Mister’s oft-missed…er…fuzz. Face. Pubes.
Now then. On with the post!
So the other day I was telling my husband about a run-in I had with a colleague who, despite being the proud owner of a dick (he talks about it like it’s God’s gift to women everywhere; I have no idea how he gets away with this in our work environment, but he does), was behaving like a total cunt. (Yes, I said cunt. If that offends you, feel free to click away.) I was explaining the encounter to my spouse, who (after commiserating with me about the aforementioned cunt-y behavior) stopped me mid-rant and said, “What’s so bad about being a cunt? Cunts are awesome!”
(Insert eye roll here.)
“I’m an equal opportunity user of derogatory terms for genitalia,” was my reply. “I *like* dicks and I *am* a cocksucker, so there’s no way I’m going to identify this asshole with either of those terms. He was being a CUNT. You don’t have to *have* one to *be* one, you know.”
“Hmmm…” was his only reply.
A short while later, once my frustration was aired, we continued our discussion about ‘private’ terminology.
“I wonder if detectives secretly revel in the nickname ‘private dicks’?” I mused.
“Why is it that dicks are also dickheads?” he offered. “If this is equal opportunity insulting, shouldn’t there be cunt heads as well?”
“No,” I replied. But there are definitely cuntfaces.”
Later that evening, on our way out to dinner, I looked across the car’s console at him and noticed that ~ once again ~ he had missed a spot high on his cheekbone when shaving earlier in the day. I smiled at the familiar sight, stroked the fuzz there and said teasingly, “Hon, you need to shave your face pubes.”
He looked thoughtful for a moment before leveling me with a look that promised retribution.
Startled at his sudden change in demeanor, I returned his gaze with a look that promised something more along the lines of…oh, I dunno…a tickle fight(?), and said “What???”
Deadpan, he said, “I think you just called me a cuntface.”