Marrying George Clooney

oh my husband.

we were getting ready for bed. new sheets, nice & cozy. just had a bunch of friends over for a dinner. very nice & cozy. ken popped an ambien while i was in mid sentence talking about a brand new arousal oil, zestra, yes that’s right, bye bye KY — and since he popped the ambien, he clearly had no interest in chatting this up, and he started dozing off, and then i gave him a slight nudge, and he opened his eyes, smiled, then he started to doze, and i finished my sentence, and then he looked at me all groggy like and said:

yeah, yeah, those little pasta twirls. sweet.

hmm.

i was talking about vaginal dryness and using this new stuff oil which promises “the pleasurable sensations of a golden rush…” and he says:

yeah, yeah, those little pasta twirls. sweet.

i don’t really need to write anything more. i’m not sure if ken thinks of my vagina as a pasta dish, or if he was remembering parts of dinner that he enjoyed. and if i ask, honey what did you mean when you said the little pasta twirls, he’d say, what are you talking about? we didn’t talk in bed last night.

really, what’s the point?

i will leave it at that.