So my husband's a dick. Did you know? Oh, he'll pretend it's not true, but he in fact REVELS in the fact that he's a GINORMOUS prick. His favorite game, as we all know by now, is torturing Gracie. He's actually spent nearly a decade studying me and my hormones and has now whittled down to a fine ART the game called Twisting Your Spouse's Words.

Don't worry, you'll be getting an example very soon. Bear with me.

Remember yesterday? When I was all cryptic and mentioned a misunderstanding in the car and my eyes bulging out from laughing? Well...I'm going to have to talk about it today after all, since ya need to understand THAT episode to understand TODAY'S. Let's begin.

First off, a friend of ours is getting married today. Many of George's coworkers are also friends with the soon-to-be-wed couple and will be attending the wedding with us.

Yesterday's "Incident":

So we were in the Jeep on our way home from the shooting range where I tried out some revolvers and other pretty, pretty bang-bang guns. The whole awkward comparison episode had just occurred and he was trying to make me feel better. I wanted to reassure him, let him off the hook, so I reached over to pat his thigh. I SWEAR I patted his outter thigh. The outter seam of his jeans, right next to where the seat belt CLICKS into place. He surprised me by jumping nearly a foot in the air and made a very surprised noise. I widened my eyes and looked at him, questioning. He said I'd startled him by touching his crotch and that he'd momentarily closed his eyes to clear them or something, and that was right when I apparently touched him in his Special Place. I, of course, knew for certain that he was mistaken. I'd touched his OUTTER THIGH. So I, in all my smart-assery, said:

"Jesus. Just how LONG do you think your dick IS, exactly?!"

aaaand things quickly went downhill.

See, I thought I was being IMMENSELY funny. And while it's still amusing as hell...it's for the wrong reason. I've learned that now (mostly). That even in JEST, you simply do not joke about a man's...stuff. Just like George has learned the Comparison Lesson. Marriage is like a school, don'tchaknow.

Anyway, at the time, *I* thought I was being wildly funny because he mistook where I touched him and NOBODY, not even DIRK DIGGLER'S junk could reach their outter thigh like that. HE got increasingly wounded and offended because HE was convinced I'd touched him about a quarter INCH from HIS junk and this was just getting SO insulting.

My hysterical laughter at the situation did NOT help matters.

At ALL.

But in my own defense, it was mostly HIS fault, cause he kept saying things like "Ohhhh, of COURSE! Insult my MANHOOD now, why don't ya!" and then in his (worst) Gracie voice he says things like the following:

"oh RIGHT! Like yer lil MUSHROOM CAP of a dick could make it aaaaall the way to your INNER THIGH! Riiiiight!"

and in his thick Boston accent, "Nice. Talking about how my dick couldn't POSSIBLY reach the great lengths of my INNER SEAM!"

and, still in Gracie-Non-Voice, "Gee, honey, do you think BOTH inches could make it over there!?"

and in between each of his utterances, when I'd manage to catch my breath, that is, I would yell in protest that I SO DIDN'T MEAN it that way! I was POSITIVE I'd touched the OUTSIDE of this LEG and THAT was why what I said was FUNNY dammit.

Didn't work. And that's when we got to Starbucks and last night's entry came into play.

Cut to....

Today's Incident:

I woke up before George and I quietly left the room to let him sleep. Our new sleep number bed is so freakin' awesome that my sleep has been SO deep and that, coupled with my stupid cold, has caused a completely unladylike measure of snoring, ruining GEORGE'S sleep. I feel just awful about that, I do, but his stories the next day are so damned funny (and I am finally getting restful, painless sleep) and HE has been wreckin' MY sleep with HIS snoring for six years now, so...it's hard to feel too broken up about it all, but I do try.

So about an hour later, George exits the bedroom and joins me in the computer room. I notice not too long after that, that he's only wearing pajama bottoms...and no shirt. Here is how things developed thereafter:

Gracie: "No shirt today, sweetie?"

George: "Nope"

Gracie: "Huh" (aaaand this is where it would have ended had he not chosen to keep going)

George: "I decided to only wear pants today. No shirt."

Gracie: "Oh? And why is that?"

George: "Cause. I was only asked to wear pants today. Nothin' was ever said 'bout a SHIRT."

Gracie: "You were only asked to wear pants today?"

George: "Yuh-huh."

Gracie: "By WHOM?"

George: "Jeff"

Gracie: "And why does JEFF care what you wear at home??"

George: "Tch. Not at HOME, silly. At the WEDDING. He just said 'God, PLEASE wear pants tomorrow, George. Please?' So...m'wearin' muh pants! 'N NOTHIN else!"

Gracie: "Well, I just don't see why *I* have to suffer just because HE made an error of omission. And the wedding's not till SEVEN tonight. It's...TEN in the morning!"

George: "Ohhhh, so it's suffering to see me without my SHIRT on, is it??"

Gracie: "No, that's not what I..."

George: "Geez. Maybe I should just WHIP OUT my teeeeny little penis so you can point and LAUGH at it some more, huh? Make 'little' jokes again like YESTERDAY, like how it must be coooooold in here and maybe ask for a microscope to even SEE it, huh? Would THAT make ya happy? WOULD IT?"

Gracie: "Jesus." *Rolls eyes to the point of PAIN and then leans over and says to the dogs, both of whom are excitedly hopping around and watching us banter back and forth, sensing some sort of ISSUE* "Weeee HATE duh daddy, dyon't we? Jess we DYOO!! We suuuure DYOO!" and then, as I passed by him to go let the dogs outside, I flicked him--kinda hard--on his bare shoulder, just for being an ass.

George: "Hey!! OW!!"

Gracie: "S'whatchya get fer sittin' around all NAKED"

George: "Ohhhh, like your VERBAL abuse isn't ENOUGH?? Ya gotta add PHYSICAL VIOLENCE to it, TOO!?"

And THAT is when the murder plot began to form.

I came back up a bit later and was still seething about his parting shot up there, and here's how the situation ended:

Gracie: "Thats it. I am SO writing about you on the site today. I was nice about it last night. I just ALLUDED to it but now? Today? I am TOTALLY writing about it, asshole."

George: "Nice. So you're going to tell the WHOLE WORLD I have a small penis. Nice. Nice." (and he doesn't actually stop speaking here, even though I have begun...)

Gracie: "siiiigh. i meant write about the CONVERSATION, dork, NOT the penis."

George: *still talking* "...GREAT wife. Beautiful. Nice. THAT'LL help our relationship."

Gracie: "DUDE! NOT ABOUT THE PENIS! About your asinine comments ABOUT it! Jesus."

George: "uh huh."

Gracie: "And besides, I'm juuuust tellin' the truth, babe. S'all I'm doin'"

George: "Oh, so it's telling the TRUTH to tell the world I have a tiny little dick?! God! Now yer just bein' MEAN!!!"

Gracie: "NO!!! Telling the truth about our CON-VER-SAAAATIOOOOONS!"

George: "Suuuuuure."

Gracie: "And right AFTER I write about you? ...I'm SHOOTING you."

He, of course, ignored that last part. He went back to playing the hockey game on his computer (until the playoffs resume at 3:00 this afternoon) and I went back to doing my thing: eating a breakfast sandwich and reading the news online (shuddup. Dear Abby is TOTALLY news!)

But something went awry! Suddenly I felt pain! I forgot that I had a cut on my finger and picked up the salty sandwich with THAT hand and decided to voice my ouch with the ever-explanatory:

Gracie: "Salt in a cut! Salt in a cut!!" while waving my hand around above my head.

And George didn't say a word. He'll usually at least comment on my stupidity when I have minor pain. Usually, in fact, gets a small measure of JOY out of it. Not today, though. Nope, he was dead silent. And I KNEW what that meant. And I didn't plan to let him get away with it.

Gracie: "Oh, so you're not talking to me now?"

George: "Well I just figured if it wasn't about my small penis, you didn't want to really TALK about it..."

Gracie: *EXAGGERATED siiiiiigh that so conveys my wish to murder him slowly and meanly...and then started typing some more*

George: "Hahahaa how come every time after *I* talk, YOU start violently typing afterward!?"

Gracie: "I don't know WHAT you're talking about!" (goes back to pounding on keyboard)

Then my asshead husband spent the next three minutes "imitating" me (which was SO NOT actual imitating, because I don't BANG when I TYPE...well... well not THAT much. Jerk.)

And thus begins our day.

(note: I had to break down and ask for his help remembering some of the puny-penis comments way back up at the top and we ended up fighting about it all over again for another ten minutes. We need help.)

A little while later, I was still "on" the subject cause I was typing this entry, but he had apparently moved on. I did not KNOW this. I heard a few taps on his desk and spun around angrily to confront him.

Gracie: "Did you just TAP UNEVENLY on the desk? Did you? Just to screw with me!?"

George: "No? Seriously, no." (but then...he did just that, while I watched...right after getting a mean-ass look in his eyes.)

I spun back around to my computer--to type angrily some more--and did my girly HUGE HUFF and Hair Flounce action that we're all so famous for, and then I realized that while I can't necessarily KILL him, I think I've developed a lovely new way to get him back for all his torturing of me:

I'll wait till he's good and sleeping several nights a week and then sneak over and change his sleep number from 60 to FIFTEEN!!

That'll...show him.

Funny George comment of the hour: watching a fight on his hockey game: "hahahahah! Lookit John Sim fight on this game! It's like how he fights in REAL life! He tries reeeeally hard to hurt the other guy's fist with his FACE!"

Just before I posted this I was reading it over, making sure it all was spaced and spelled properly. After reading it again I got annoyed and said to George: "Yer a jerk!"

George: "Hey, what'd *I* do? I'm just sittin' here playin' my game!"

Gracie: "I was reading over the entry again and it...reminded me that yer a jerk."

George: "No, no. I'm a jerk with a small PENIS, remember??"

That's it. I'm done. I have to go drown myself now. See ya!

Someone Arrived Here Searching For:

song, ding by da dong would you like an apple pie with that [aaaaaand there go my bulging eyeballs again. ahahahahha. THANK you for this.]

do squirrels wag their tails

was there a female marvel super hero that giggled

i hate spa sydell [then...don't go...?]

nude newscasters

"fuck my dog" "i love"

shannon hates dave

[Gracie note: I cannot believe how many people search for "Ashlee Simpson's Hair". Jesus CHRIST.]

who shot boo [boo got shot! boo got shot!]

all american granny porn [yeah, because all-american grannies tend to lean toward doing PORN. Jackass.]

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