Tuesday Evening Gross Out

It's another night of fun and games at Golden Manor. The Actor/Ninja pulled a set of nunchucks on me and made me drive him and Garbo to Udder Delights (I kid you not) for ice cream. Worse, they forced me to eat a medium chocolate vanilla twist cone. What kind of inhumanity is that, I ask you?

MathMan is alternately doing laundry, talking on the phone to teachers, and mumbling something about being fat. He doesn't know from fat, but whatever.

I'm off. I mean I'm feeling off. I was supposed to work from home today, but ended up going into the office at one and working until six. It's disconcerting to one minute be happily wrapping up a conference call as you still sit in your workout clothes and the next minute, you're rushing around for a shower and clothing that matches because the lawyers that you work for as your second job need something right now, but they don't know what it is and you have to drive 45 miles to stand at their desk so they can play "tell me what you see" until you figure out what they want so you can fax it to them.

Because you're dedicated like that.

And so am I.

Worst thing is, I didn't complete my morning ablutions to the fullest extent and now, because I am not a Brazilian, stuff is growing back in and it's itching me all to hell. It's either that or a dreaded yeast infection from who knows what because I haven't been using my hoohah for anything fun or interesting lately. Just ask MathMan. He'll tell you so and grumpily.

So here I am, stuffed full of ice cream and dinner, an underwire in my new bra poking me where it shouldn't dammit, and I've got an itch that should not speak its name. I share the fun.

Me: "My balls itch."
MathMan: "I see that" gesturing to my hand in my pants.
Me: "I can't help it. It itches."
MathMan: "Well, would it be worth trying...."
I cut him off. "I am not putting that cream on my twat." I assumed he was talking about the cream we got for The Actor/Ninja's poison ivy.
"No! That's not what I was going to say," MathMan groans. He loves it when I assume he's being an idiot. "I was going to say..."
I cut him off again. "Don't even suggest I spray the Tinactin on my Vee." Tough actin' Tinactin is for Jock Itch. Don't ask. It'll just gross you out. As if I could gross you out more....
"No! Jeez! I was going to ask if it would be worth getting some of that Monistat or something," MathMan said, all doctorly, yet exasperated by my interruptions and rude assumptions.
I thought about that for a minute while I scratched. "Yeah, that would probably be a good idea. In the meantime though, maybe I will try that Tinactin. It would be quite bracing....."
"Didn't it burn you when you used it somewhere else?" MathMan reminded me. (I'm telling you, do not ask.)
"Oh, right. Yeah, it did. Hmm. Itch or burn? Maybe I should just try shaving first?"

MathMan looked at me as if he were seeing me for the first time. I reached in for another scratch.

MathMan: "Get anything good?"
Me: "Not yet. I'll let you know."