Today I had to explain “Santorum” to my husband, following some crude joke I made about anal froth (as expected). Frankly, given his intense need to follow every debate, I was surprised I knew something about a candidate that he didn’t. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Santorum. Get it? ….Because Santorum.
Me: You know the juices that mingle with– please, tell me you know what I’m talking about…
Nick: Um, no. Sorry.
Me: Jelly Babies!!!!
Nick: Oooh! – So what does that have to do with him?
As googling ensued, I couldn’t help but think how odd it was that we both have “Jelly Babies” in our extended vocabulary. Things like this just happen when your dad is gay. Not that I learned that terminology directly from my father— I guess we can just chalk it up to acquired knowledge. Poop knowledge.
In other news, I made it through Aldi yesterday without having a panic attack. Hooray!
On that note, I am getting help for my anxiety issues. Maybe now I won’t be afraid of deer or lasers (or large crowds, narrow spaces, or my teeth) and maybe someday I’ll stop worrying about whether or not other people understand commercials.
I realize this post has no coherence; I’ve made peace with that issue.