Talk Smart To Me

Say what? Say it again!

Yesterday, George and I were waiting in line at the grocery store to buy brussel sprouts. We just ate ice cream, and my stomach felt queasy, so I said to him, "My tummy hurts."
I was holding him in my arms, and he looked me in the eyes, put his hand on my cheek, and with pouty lips said at top volume, "Do you have diarrhea?"
People around us chuckled, which eased my embarrassment, but I made a critical mistake, and said to him, "Shhhhhh!"
George is my little shock-jock, and once he realized he struck a cord by shouting, "Do you have diarrhea?" he said it over and over again, until we were in the car.
A long time ago, when he said "fuck" after overhearing it, and all eyes locked in on him, he realized a fast way to captivate an audience was to do something naughty. That attention seeking appetite has become insatiable lately.
The silver-lining to his two year old Howard Stern persona is that I can write about it, and make funny jokes when talking to people.

Lately I'm not carving out the writing time I used to, and need to get back to a story I'm writing about my sister and I traipsing around Philadelphia for three days, guzzling beer and blowing off pent up steam. There was a time, we'll call it a rough patch, when I figured the silver lining to getting divorced would be dedicating my weekends, or every other weekend, to uninterrupted writing time. The not-so-silver-lining would be that I'd spend every other Christmas alone. My solution to that was having great, big, blended, family Christmases, where me, my new partner, ex, and his new partner would come together and have a great time, keeping the kids happy knowing neither of their producers has to spend the holiday alone, drinking heavily and chain smoking.
For being such a normal seeming person, I have anger mismanagement issues, and one thing that sets me off is that horrendous green monster, whose so hard to fight off, jealousy. So, although I'd like to maintain a positive disposition when faced with the new stepmom, I'd likely be sitting across from her, and without even being able to talk sense into myself, I'd hurl a bread roll at her head after she asks, "Could someone pass me the green beans?"
I'd spend hours hoping she develops a thyroid issue, gaining 200 pounds, not because I'd want to punish her, but because thats something that would really burn the kids' dad, and I'd want to punish him.

Me, I don't really have any beauty criteria when sizing someone up for potential soul-mate. I guess my husband, in this scenario he'd be the ex, would have to hope my new husband was stupid because I like my men big brained. I don't care if he's missing an eye, an arm, growing a tail or missing a dick. I'd just masturbate as he talked smart to me. Every night would be like a learning annex. I'd pet his shoulder, and nuzzle my cheek into his chest, and say, "Can you tell me about dark matter."
He'd get a look on his face, thinking, "again!" simultaneously annoyed and happy by my voracious appetite. Then I'd jerk off to his science lessons. "Say 'cosmic microwave radiation' again. Oh yeah!"

Wow, this went in a weird direction. Shock jock begets shock jock. Silver lining... I don't fucking know.