Chafing

Chafing

So I'm Mario Tennising and my beloved husband comes up to me holding a toy. No, not that kind of toy. We don't keep those in the living room. He says, "Remember my ex that used to chafe me? This is what it looked like whenever we had sex." And he holds up Cheer Bear and Grumpy Bear, puts them in a compromising position (complete with humping motions) and starts laughing.

The facial expression on this thing cracks me up now.

I laughed too, because I remembered how when we were just friends, Geo used to meet me and Tony at Applebee's and complain about it over shots. He'd deliberately stay later, hoping that she would be too tired to have sex that night. I told him at the time to just ask her to get a wax instead of avoiding her. Geo has very sensitive skin. His shirts even cut his skin up sometimes. It's both endearing and disturbing. And useful. When he pisses me off I say nothing, then after he goes to sleep I starch all his shirts. Just um, kidding.

By the way, settle a debate for us. While we were getting dressed to attend a Christening yesterday, I asked Geo if he could see any unflattering undergarment lines through my dress. He said yes, so I groaned and went to find a new dress to wear.

Geo: Just go commando.
Me: No. You can't go commando in God's house.

He disagreed but I think I'm right. It's not the fricken mall or some random bar. By the way, I fricken love saying that. I said that about eight times today. "You can't chew gum in God's house." "You can't say 'Fuck' in God's house." "You can't have your fly open in God's house." I wonder if God was watching the whole time and saying "Dammit Riss, stop being such a fucking Church Nazi."