OK, everybody is gone, right?
Pretty sure everyone is tired of looking for my post today, and so no one will read this.
Mark said I could publish this story as long as no one read it.
A bit of background.
I am no longer allowed to text anyone.
I know! I am a fucking grown woman! What the fuck, right?
We buy condoms in bulk from Costco.
Costco . . . because we are Costco people.
And bulk . . . well . . . bulk is required.
OK, so Mark comes home from Costco with The Trojan Pleasure Pack of condoms.
A variety pack! Four different kinds. Whatever . . . I am never able to tell the difference between one condom and another. Long as we are not having any more children? Don’t even care.
OK, so he buys these condoms.
I open the boxes to check out the variety. Toss them all out on the bed.
I notice immediately that one of the four types of condoms?
Appears to require a much larger package than the others.
Hmmmm . . . why would that be, you think? Interesting.
But it’s the night before Mark and the girls head out to Northern California, and we’re all busy getting everything organized, and we never get around to having sex.
It happens, people.
OK, so now it’s the following night. Mark and the girls are gone. Here all by myself. At my desk.
And my phone buzzes.
I remember the deep shit trouble I got into last time I texted with someone (ahem), and so I cautiously check to see who is texting me.
Hey, it’s Mark! Mark never texts me!
OK . . . M is for Mark and K is for Kris. If you are all kinds of new here? I am Kris.
M: I love you!
K: Hey! I am allowed to text people now?
M: Only me.
K: Bossy one! What if I have flirting needs of the texting sort?
M: OK, but only up to 200 max. per month.
K: I’ll need to flirt quickly, then! Right to the sexy stuff! Snort!
I am pretty sure Mark understood this part of the conversation to mean that I would be speedy sexy text-flirting with only him.
Shhhh . . . that is what I meant, people. Plus also? That’s how I got into trouble that other time of which we are not speaking. That and running up a little texting bill when I did not pay attention to our phone’s texting limits.
M: Great post today!
K: Thank you! I wasn’t sure you would get a chance to read it.
M: Of course I read it.
K: Why are you texting, anyway? You never text.
M: Hotel room. Girls are not sleeping. If I talk they will yell at me. Especially Maj.
K: Snort! OK, so tell me something flirty. All quiet. We are using up my 200 texts!
There is a long silence here. Mark and I have never ever texted one another, and I am curious about what he has to say next.
And then this . . .
M: We didn’t play with the big condoms yesterday.
K: OK, that has made me laugh right out loud! Like we were going to have “big boy” sex. Dying, babe.
M: You are a goof.
K: I will try to keep from playing with the condoms in your absence.
M: They’re padded, you know.
K: What??? Padded??
M: Instant mail enhancement!
I . . . am . . . dying. Mail enhancement?
K: Oh, babe. I am laughing so hard.
K: Are they really padded?
M: Why else would they be so big?
K: Oh my god. We need to text more often. You make me giggle.
M: I make you laugh at home.
K: I know that. You always make me laugh. Love that. Do you think they are really padded?
M: They would sell more if they were. Oh, but that would dull sensation. So maybe not.
I am quickly typing in my next brilliant thoughts, but Mark is faster.
M: Unless they are actually some sort of vibrating padded condom! That’s it!
K: Man. You beat me to that line.
M: File a patent! We’ll be rich!
K: Our prayers are answered!
M: Love you. I know you are going to open one of those packages now.
How well does he know me, right? I am already halfway up the stairs.
K: Hold on a second.
M: VibraPlunger will make us rich!
K: I am dying! VibraPlunger?
M: It just came to me.
Tears in my eyes, people. VibraPlunger? Oh my god.
I rip open one of the largish condom wrappers. Ack! It’s all messy.
K: OK, guess what?
K: The condom is regular size! The package lies!
M: That’s because it’s the size of the package that matters.
K: Oh my god. Are you always this witty?
K: How have I not noticed this? I must get too caught up in your other features.
M: Again . . . the package.
M: OK, I need to go to bed. Don’t have too much fun with that lubricated condom.
K: Speaking of that? My phone screen is all smeary. Annoying lube.
M: It’s not meant for phone sex, silly!
Hysterical giggling here. With giggle-weakened lube-smeared fingers, I type.
K: You are killing me, babe.
K: Go to bed, sexy you. Love you.
M: Love you, too. Night.
K: Night, babe.
M: And babe?
M: I can see how these texts could get away from you.