'it's not gonna make me wanna have sex, is it?'

Good morning, lovelies. I planned to write a post last night that was equal parts thought provoking and outrageously hilarious (which is most often my writing M.O., but very rarely the outcome), but my plans were thwarted by the Tool Man's triumphant return to the shed. I was, as any tool crazy woman would be, pretty excited by his arrival, because for about an hour before he pulled his lovin' truck into the driveway, he'd been calling me and being all chit chatty about cocks.

(I know, right?! It's been a very long time since I used that kind of talk around these parts, and even then, it was mostly having to do with my tremendous phallic arms, so if I made you gasp in horror and make that "tsk, tsk," sound, I say, "Seriously, Mom, how'd you find my blog, anyway?")

Back to the story. For like an hour, I thought I was getting the sexy talk. "You wanna see this cocks, dont'cha?" "I'm bringing cocks home! Be ready!" (this one scared me), and "You've been wanting this cocks."

Amen, Tool Man. Just get home.

Shortly after the final telephone call, the man walks in the house, drops his bags, yells "Who wants cocks!?" and I (momentarily scared again at the plural), ran through the house all, "The kids are at my Mom's! Get your pants off! Woo hoo!"

Then I landed in front of him, and found he was brandishing the Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story in his clenched fist. "In my dreams you're blowing me...kisses!" he said.

It has recently been suggested to me that, when the Tool Man and I are together again, I totally unleash the "f word" on him, and really get him going, tell him exactly what it is I need him to do. It should be noted that, more often than not, I can get him going by heading up the kitchen and stirring up something delicious for supper.

Because I do that naked.

No I don't.

Not always.

That mostly gets done at breakfast.

Anyway.

So, using the "F word." Standing before my husband, thrilled at his return home for however long, I took a deep breath, steeled my back, spread my arms and let loose.

"YES! I totally want to watch a film with you, baby!!"

And so, for the next two hours, I paid a lot of attention to Cox.

The unrated version. Because we're freakin' hardcore animals.

And we were. Later.

(Don't "tsk, tsk" me, woman! Seriously, how did you find my blog?)