I use Cottonelle and I also write a bloggy-blog and that works out well.
Hubz: “I need to run up to the store to get more toilet paper.”
Me: “Oh my gosh, you used up the last roll during your duke, didn’t you? Damn it!”
Hubz: “No, there’s still a bit left.”
Me: “Enough for me to duke?”
Hubz: “Yes, there is enough for maybe a duke or two. Can we please stop talking about pooping now?”
The hubz gets a bit squeamish about bodily functions. Defecation is probably one of his least favorite subjects. Which, of course, makes me want to talk about it all the more. Not to be mean, or push his buttons. It’s all in good LOVE. I want to HELP him be more comfortable with gross-ness. So I press the issue.
Me: “How many squares, exactly, constitutes ‘enough for maybe a duke or two’? It’s not like you have a decent estimation of the amount I will need. For all you know, I use WAY MORE toilet paper during a duke than you do. We need to figure this out. How many squares do you use, per duke?”
Hubz: “I know what you’re doing. Stop talking about poop. I’m not talking about this with you.”
Me: “I’m not doing anything. It’s just a question. And anyway you’re the one who brought it up. If you didn’t want to talk about duke, you shouldn’t have said anything.”
Now the hubz is getting angry. His face is reddish and his hands are busy removing and replacing, removing and replacing, the baseball cap adorning his sweet, tomato-colored scalp. I know enough to quit. Kind of… Okay, not really.
Me: “I’m sorry. We can stop talking about duke now. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I just wanted to be prepared, you know, in case I have to duke later. It kind of isn’t fair if you already had your daily duke, and you took all the toilet paper. But that’s okay. I just won’t duke. And if I get sick, I won’t blame you.”
Hubz: “I hate you a little bit. I’m leaving. I’m getting toilet paper. I will be back, and then you can duke to your heart’s content. And anyway? Who the hell says ‘duke’? What are you, THREE?”
Me: “According to Twitter, the answer to that question is ‘YES. Yes, I am.’”
@ @ @ someone relates breastfeeding as equal to popping a penis out. Are you three?
—
Hubz: “I’ll pick up some fucking diapers while I’m out, too then.”
Touche, hubz. Nicely played.
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