Brought to you by guestblogger, Gingajoy…
The Wife, The Husband, Two Children, Fetid Dog, No legroom. Levered into the car for the four-hour trip to Grandma’s. Forbidden Lunchable snacks have been consumed, messily. The Baby has finally drifted off, and the DVD player kicks in for Big Brother.
For the grownups…this is as close to Couple Time as they are going to get.
The Wife coyly broaches the subject. “So. I’m signed up to do “Burlesque Blogging” next week for Her Bad Mother…..” “I have no clue what to write about. I mean. It’s meant to be burlesque.”
She looks sidelong at The Husband at the wheel. “Well” he says nonchalantly, “you do know that burlesque originally refers to a “literary device for parodic gesture?”
“Oh Yes!” She exclaims “And, of course, the burlesque as a performative genre has its roots in the Italian Commedia d’Elle Arte. As you know.” (No need to mention that this little tidbit came courtesy of a wikipedia search earlier that afternoon).
“The thing is,” she says “I think the idea was more in line with burlesque as striptease. You know. Naked girls and big feathered fans and all that. The word HBM used was “dirty.” Actually, instructions were along the lines of ‘make it dirty, dirty, dirty, gals… but feel free to interpret the word loosely.’ But I think she’s thinking along the sex lines.”
“What about that episode of South Park” The Husband warms to the idea now. “The one where Mr Garrison has all the kids listing all the sex positions they know “Missionary, Filthy Sanchez, Glass Bottomed Boat… That was really funny. And filthy”
“There’s definitely some inspiration to be had there” she concedes “But I got the sense that she was thinking something a little more sophisticated, you know, where the narrative can function figuratively as a type of strip—”
“—You know what the glass bottomed boat is don’t you??? And the filthy Sanchez?”
“Uh, hello? Yes! Yes I do, thanksverymuch.”
“You know that with the glass-bottomed boat they use cling wrap to…”
“YES! I know! Blegh. Shuddup!”
An idea dawns on her “Actually, maybe there’s something to that. Sex acts and erotic equipment that make me want to lock it up with a key.”
“I saw an ad for a Flash Light recently” He offers.
“A flash light?”
“A FLESH light”
“It’s a flash light, with a “female opening” where the light would be. You can choose your own orifice.”
“I don’t get it. Are there handles on the side?’ (She sidesteps the question as to how this device made its way into his purview).
“No. It’s shaped just like a flash light”
“Well. Think about it. That doesn’t seem to be very ergonomically savvy. What a pain in the ass… (Heh).”
She opts to share something. “When we were in Kentucky, HBM and I went into a Sex Shop. For a giggle. It was right by the hotel. There was a lot of stuff like that. Repellent, yet fascinating. I mean I get the vibrators and stuff, obviously, but the female parts…. There was one doll-thing with three erotic openings for your pleasure…”
“Yep” He says. “All three.”
“It makes you wonder about all the effort involved, you know?”
She goes on. “A bit like when you need to chop up and blend a bunch of vegetables for a nice spot of soup. You think to yourself ‘Do I get out the Cuisinart? I mean, am I really going to bother with all this equipment I have to clean up, or…”
“Or shall I just do it by hand and save on the mess?” He completes her sentence for her…
It’s moments like this… When they become one.
[CUE MUSIC: “Ooooooh. I Love to Love you Baby. OOOOOOOOH I Love to Love you Baby…”.]