And now, a sexy story for you

A couple of days ago I was getting out of the shower, and while I was changing, I noticed that I had cut the top of my toe. (Not the big toe. A lesser toe. I don't know why this detail is important.) Scott noticed it as well, or maybe I stuck my toe in his face and shouted "LOOK I AM BLEEDING PLEASE HELP" (I sometimes do this) and he said, reasonably enough, "How did you do that?"
I hesitated. Then I thought, you know what? We've been together for seventeen years. It's about time he knew this about me. "Well," I said, "I…I must have nicked it with the razor."
"The razor? But why…?"
"Because," I said. "Because I have furry hobbit toes. And I shave them."
"You ... shave your toes?" I have never seen him look more confused.
"DON'T JUDGE ME," I did not shout. But I thought it. Maybe I said it?
"It's better that you don't know too much about this," I said. "But yes."
"But I don't understand," he said, "why would you shave them?"
"As opposed to what? Waxing? Burning?"
"No," he said, "I would think you would pluck them."
And then I backed slowly out of the room, then out the door, then down the stairs, and now I don't know where I am.

No, but seriously. Pluck them? I don't even know where to start with this. Does he think I have one or two weird aberrant hairs that sprout up on my toes? I have tiny mini-forests that would sprout on every toe if I didn't maintain them. Should I not have told you that?

Perhaps the sexiest detail in this story is that I was getting ready to go to the OB/GYN.  Yes, I was shaving my toes for my doctor. No reason she should have to deal with anything less than the most hairless of feet in her stirrups!

Aaaand I've just lost my last male reader. My work here is done.

We need to talk.

Me: Sit down, please.
Izzy: What?


Me: Do I have to say it?
Izzy: If this is about my weight…
Me: It is.
Izzy: … let me finish. LET ME GODDAMN FINISH. I was going to say, if this is about my weight, I will murder you in your sleep.
Me: …
Izzy: HA! Just kidding! I already WOULD murder you in your sleep, except I haven't figured out how. Yet.
Me: That's reassuring. Look, cat, you… how can I put this?
Izzy: I'm…
Me: You're…


Izzy: Big boned?
Me: Enormous. Grotesque. Overly, overly large.
Izzy: I'm sure I don't know what you mean. Are you referring to my frame?
Me: You do not have a big frame. You have a tiny head and weensy kitten paws. Your BUILD has nothing to do with it.
Izzy: Then it's all hair.
Me: I didn't know that that hair could weigh that much.
Izzy: Well, I mean, some of it is brains and guts and whatever.
Me: You can't clean yourself. Especially in the hindquarters. This is sad, cat.
Izzy: Now you're embarrassing me.
Me: I'm sorry, but it's true. Your butt is… why are you lying on my cell phone?


Izzy: It's warm. Shut up. Anyway, whose fault is it that I'm so big? Bastet didn't make me like this!
Me: Ba-who now?
Izzy: The Cat Goddess. Daughter of the Sun-God. Protector of Us All. Obviously.
Me: ANYWAY, listen, we need to put you on a diet.
Izzy: Then get ready for THIS. Feel my paw batting at you in protest!
Me: Felt.
Izzy: This is all I ask.
Me: Well, this was a nice talk.
Izzy: Still planning to murder you! Some day! Paws crossed!

On the walk home

"The book I'm writing, it's actually a series, it's going to be nine parts, and the part I'm writing now--well, not actually writing but planning in my mind--is the part with me and Nick and we're fighting robots, not big robots but small robots, well actually medium-sized robots, like they're dog-sized, and Nick has this laser gun and it's like ka-zing but the laser misses and the robot is like WHEEAAAAA and I'm hiding in a locker and then I jump out like WHOAAA and then WHOOOoOSHhhhh and BLAMBLAMBLAM and the thing explodes all over. That's the first part. And then--"

"Okay, Henry?"

"--the second part is when everything's all blown up and the robots are on top of the school and we're like GET AWAY STUPID ROBOTS and they're all flying up in the air and there's like a big spider monster who's all [frantic limb movements commence]--"

"Henry. HENRY."

"Mom. I'm trying to tell you about my book."

"Yes, but there's a problem.  I don't understand a single word you're saying."

"So?"

"I've lost track of what's going on."

"I'm saying, the robots are like ON TOP and we're like DOWN THERE and they've got these green tentacled things, well, not tentacled, they're kind of like spiders but not--"

"I'm totally lost. Why don't you just write down your stories? Like, on paper? Then I can see them and understand what you're talking about."

"Because I want to tell you about them."

"But I can't understand what the story is. Half the time you're not using words."

"Mom, that's okay."

"It's okay that I can't follow your story?"

"I just feel like saying it."

"Okay, so while you're talking, can I let my mind wander? I don't have to try to follow this?"

"Yes."

"So I should just pretend to listen?"

"You don't have to pretend."

"No 'uh-huh's and 'I see's? You don't need those?"

"NO. Mom, can I just tell my story?"

"Absolutely, my son. I will go on a little vacation in my mind while you natter away."

"THANK you."

"I'm so glad we can communicate like this."

"Yep. Can I talk, now?"

How I know I am not adopted--besides the Irish chin and the Italian hips.

Me: We went sledding Saturday.
Mom: You? You went sledding.
Me: I did. I sucked it up, and I decided to just do it. It looked like fun! I mean, everyone else was having fun.
Mom: So how you'd do?
Me: I think it's safe to say that I am not a lover of danger.
Mom: I'd say so.
Me: I am missing the risk gene. I have no need for speed.
Mom: So, no more sledding for you?
Me: WHO WOULD LIKE SLEDDING? You throw yourself down a hill! I have spent my whole life avoiding falling down hills!
Mom: Ookay.
Me: I'm being hurtled down a hill and people are running away! I was inches away from head trauma! I do not understand winter sports.
Mom: As your father says about skiing: you put two sticks on your feet and throw your face in the snow.
Me: Oh, I won't ski. No.
Mom: I think that's for the best.