This Licorice Smells Like Shit!

Because I’m queen over-analytical, I love to worry myself about things before they even happen. My latest concern has been the affect of this new pseudo-relationship with The Brother upon my wife, Midge.

The story of how Midge and I first fell in love is a good one. Let’s go back there.

Three months into working at my current job (over 2 years ago now), Midge and I slowly discovered our mutual love for 80’s teen movies. One weekend my boyfriend at the time was out of town, so I dragged Midge to my casa in Berkeley. We threw mattresses on the floor, wrapped ourselves up in warm blankets, and surrounded ourselves with junk food.

Although I’m pretty open about bodily functions, Midge and I just hadn’t gone there yet. When the junk food kicked in, I naturally needed to take a shit. Slightly shy, I told him I’d be in the bathroom for a bit. After a while, I finally returned to my comfy spot. Since I’d had a big unload of, well you know, stuff, I had to refill those empty bowels. I reached for the Red Vines. The phone rings, and I proceed to have a brief conversation, while I’m still scarfing down the licorice. As I’m talking on the phone, I mouth to Midge who was also eating Red Vines, “these red vines smell like shit.”

Midge, with his grimaced face, smells his, then retorts, “hm, actually mine don’t.”

So I start smelling the phone as the person on the line gabs away. “Midge, fuck I think it’s the phone… this phone smells like actual shit.”

Then suddenly my faces turns pale.

Midge, “oh my god, what?”

Stunned I whisper to him (person still on the phone) pointing to my hand, “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I have shit on my hand.”

He starts crying. I get off the phone and join him with tears of laughter.

“Guess I should have washed my hands.”

I learned my lesson. And this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.