That's My Bix!

(Scene: Esteban and Weetabix are spooning in bed.)

Esteban: (snakes his hand under Weet’s t-shirt and goes for the fun pillows)

Weetabix: HEY! BACK OFF!

Esteban: What?

Weetabix: Do NOT touch. No touch.

Esteban: What? What did I do? Did accidentally hurt you?

Weetabix: No, no, no, it’s just one of those things. Most of the time, I don’t care, but some days, some days’everything is very sensitive for some reason.

Esteban: It’s not’ that time is it?

Weetabix: No, no, it has nothing to do with that. Just some times, the nips just don’t want anything to do with anyone. It’s like, some days? My nipples are at eleven.

Esteban: Your nipples have gone Spinal Tap?

Weetabix: Well, I was going to say ‘everything’s been kicked up a notch’ but that was too’ Emeril.

Esteban: Yeah, good save then with the Spinal Tap.

Weetabix: Thank you. I feel you can almost never go wrong with a well chosen Christopher Guest quote.

Esteban: So I can’t touch you, you’re saying, because they’re at eleven?

Weetabix: You know, it’s not even you. I was drinking from my water bottle before and the cap brushed against a nip and I actually got pissed off at my own self. I pissed myself off. Which is just weird, because most times? Nipple touching is a good thing, especially when you do it. It’s like’ better than toast.

Esteban: Toast.

Weetabix: I’m just saying.

Esteban: Toast?!

Weetabix: What?

Esteban: Ahem’. TOAST!?

Weetabix: I like toast.

Esteban: Singed bread? I’m better than singed fucking bread?

Weetabix: Toast is good. It’s a good thing. Toast makes me happy.

Esteban: I’m so glad that I rate above bread.

Weetabix: Not bread’ toast. There’s a difference.

Esteban: God, this is proof, right here that the honeymoon is over. Because now? I’m on a scale with toast. Breakfast food. Is it like, Toast’ Me’ then Peanut Butter Cap’n Crunch?

Weetabix: I think toast makes me happier than Cap’n Crunch.

Esteban: Toast. I can’t believe it has come to this. Toast.

Weetabix: But’ I really really love toast.

Esteban: It’s bread. Almost burnt bread.

Weetabix: You know, if I would have said ‘You touching the nips is better than chocolate’, you wouldn’t have had a problem with that. But because it’s toast, suddenly I’m condescending?

Esteban: Because that’s chocolate. That’s something that gives you a high.

Weetabix: Toast makes me happy.

Esteban: Maybe that could be my new catch phrase. Like if something’s really good, we could say ‘Yeah, that’s just toast!’

Weetabix: I could have said It’s better than shopping.

Esteban: Well then I would have known that you were lying.

Weetabix: Oh, well… let’s just stick with toast.

Esteban: So it’s toast, then me then shopping.

Weetabix: This isn’t about YOU, it’s about you touching my nips. Totally different. You as a whole are WAY above shopping and toast.

Esteban: What if one morning I wake you up and I have toast on my crotch?

Weetabix: Ok, now you’re just corrupting my pure toast love.

Esteban: Never mind…butter, crumbs in bed, it’s all very messy. So, right now, though, your boobies are untouchable.

Weetabix: Well, the nipples are. They are a no fly zone.

Esteban: But there are other…airports?

Weetabix: Um… maybe.

Esteban: That’s way toast!

Weetabix: Catch phrase?

Esteban: Yeah.

Weetabix: Toast.

Esteban:Toast.

Weird moment just now: Esteban has hurt his ankle. It is somehow related to typing on his computer, but don’t even ask how that all works. He is spending the Saturday afternoon watching manly movies on the various cable networks’ Anti Chick-Flick Weekend (and really, by rights shouldn’t they be called Dick Flicks? If I have to go through life being insulted by the fact that the world feels that by the simple virtue of my gender that I enjoy movies like Beaches, the Divine Secrets of the Message In A Bottle That I Know Is One True Thing and any movie that combines Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks’ ok, maybe I do like the Hanks/Ryan combos but still…then we should have a label so that if you’ve got a penis, you must like Clint Eastwood and Ernest Borgnine and lots of guns and generals and Jackie Chan). So essentially, I’m listening to a bunch of war sounds and then some grizzly, cigar-fueled macho voice telling the troops that they’ve got to go on to fight for freedom, then the channel flips to the swishiest sounding male tenor in the world singing an aria.

Wait for it’ wait for it’ wait for it’ then he switches back to the war.

What was up with that? Was that the ying to the yang of all of that heavy artillery? Was it like an emergency eppy of estrogen to the heart after an overdose of testosterone?

And I’ll bet if I asked him about it right now, he’ll deny it.

Seriously, there are some days I feel exactly like Jane Goodall.