Ma, if you read this, you will be saying, in a shocked voice, “Robert Scott…”. You’ll be grinning, but you’ll say it. That’s as much warning as anyone gets, and more than most. In fact, here’s more, compliments of the house:
WARNING…SHOCKING TEENS AND BAD, OLD JOKES AHEAD….
Othello and his Imaginary Friend, piddlesdeus, were – for reasons it is best not to examine too closely – discussing whether Othello was circumcised. Othello claimed he was, and, perhaps just for the argument, IF refused to believe him. The subject became heated and finally came to a head (ahem) with Othello waving his free hand and nearly shouting, “–then you can ask Dad. He’ll tell anybody anything.”
I was ready for a break. “Bring him on! I’ll kick his — what am I telling who?”
Othello brought me the phone. “Tell him.”
I grabbed it cheerfully (ah, wine and words tapping onto the screen, an uplifting combination) and quickly snapped out some words of wisdom concerning lubrication. There was shocked silence. Fast-moving angst left cold tire marks down my spine. “Who is this and what are we talking about?” The imaginary friend identified himself. “Oh, good. I was worried it was my mother. What are we talking about?”
“Is Othello cut?”
“Yes! Oh, ye – listen, do you know how small a newborn’s winky is?”
(Othello, in the background: “Hey! I was hung like a five year old right from birth!”
Me: “And you still are. Hush, I’m talking.”)
I continued. “So they slip him the knife, see, and everybody’s clustering around the kid with the new boo-boo, so I kind of make off with the leftovers, if you get me. I’ve got this little tiny ring of the softest uncured leather anybody will ever see, so I soak it in salt and dry it out, a couple of times, and end up with this half-inch wide leather pinky ring. It was great, and if I rubbed it I had a cured leather bracelet, instead!”
More silence.
I had more words to type, so I passed the phone back. Catatonic teenagers are the best kind, but they’re not terribly entertaining. I don’t recall teens being that easy to shock, back in the day.
Bridgette’s probably glad she went to bed early.
Oh — and I’m writing tonight, a very happy thing. I seem to have a system that is working reliably to have me get work done. Good, good, goodgoodgood.
Crossposted from Epinepherine & Sophistry