I love me some pudgy nerd.
For real, is there anything in the world hotter than a tubby techie/trekkie? Answer to my question: No. Answer to your question of "Is this bitch joking?": Definitely not. My man is hefty in both body and brain, and it does it for me.
That being said, this is not really a post about sex. Instead, it's more about thrifting. If thrifting got sexy. You're intrigued now, aren't you, you perverts?
Anyway, earlier this week, when this story starts, my husband (Chris) and I were strolling through a flea market when I found this:
Do you know what that is?
You're correct; it IS an old house numbers sign for 69 Blow Boulevard. Okay, so it doesn't say Blow Boulevard. But that's the only street in America that can have my sign, and now that we know that it has no other proper place in society, we also know it belongs in my bedroom.
Before your mind gets flopping too hard in that gutter, I want it for its aesthetic value. You see, I have a rickety gallery wall of sorts in my bedroom.
Here's a picture of it:
Oooops! That's a picture of my sex tape. Forget you saw that. (Yes, I'm punny. Har, har, har.)
No, really, though, here's a picture of the bedroom:
Okay. That's actually a picture of my cat plotting to kill me. But still, the image gives you an idea of the space I'm working with and why, at that flea market, when I saw the sign, I about died. And by died, I mean squealed loudly enough that Chris heard me four booths away and about perished from embarrassment.
When he finally recovered from his shame (or rather, when he eventually realized he could no longer ignore my yelps of "Chris! Chris! Chris! Come here! Chris! Chris! Chris!), he found me, rubbing my hands together with so much vigor that I would be the pride of any super villain and/or Boy Scout needing his fire-starting badge.
I informed Chris that I HAD to get that sign and hang it in the bedroom because... well, because... 69! How hipster-esque would it be to have something SO TOTALLY ABOUT SEX hanging in my bedroom and ALSO be vintage and ALSO be just vague enough that if a prude ever accidentally stumbled in my home and was all like, "Um, what's that about?," I could honestly say, "Oh, it's a vintage house sign that I found at a flea market, and I absolutely loved its patina, and I love texturing my walls with different materials and concepts!," and they'd be so caught up in the narrative that they'd stop picturing Chris's and my face simultaneously smushed into each other's naughty bits. A scenario of which, I should add, has never happened. But maybe that could all change if we just bought the damn sign!
Truthfully, I thought this was a solid pitch. I mean, how can you turn down a hilarious and historical art piece that also fits your existing decorating plan while also guaranteeing you a turn on to The Intercourse Interstate?
Apparently can you deny such a ride if you're a porky PC gamer who has somehow forgotten how lucky he is to get to partake in an activity that eluded him until his mid-20s when I came along.
I don't know why I thought my husband would be swayed by sex. After all, we actually had this conversation only last Friday:
Me: We're still on for ... you know... tonight, right?
Chris: Hell, yeah!
(Two hours later)
Chris: So, Will and his friends invited me to play Rust and help them raid this one douchebag's fortress. But we're going to do it at MIDNIGHT, so we can rub our asses on his face while he sleeps and then kill him and take all his shit.
Chris: You see, teabagging is this thing you do in video games to show...
Me: I do not care. Just... go...
Me: Although I don't know why you have to go raid someone's online castle when you've got a cave of wonders RIGHT HERE that you've been invited to invade.
Chris: ... (Doesn't respond, because he's already on the headset with his friends, talking about battle strategies.)
So, yeah, that rad 69 vintage sign? Access denied.
Well, two can play at that game. If his billfold is closed for business, then so's my lady blossom. Now I just have to hope that he notices the dry (er than usual) spell. And I just have to pray that he doesn't read the first sentence of this post where I basically admit that I can't hold out when I am craving me some corpulent computer professor who knows the plot line to every episode of StarGate: Atlantis.
And while I'm working on that front, I'm just going to have to do with this doctored photo I made that includes the sign:
For real, though, I go back and get that sign regardless, right? I'm leaning more "yay" than "nay" on this. It was only, like, $20, and Chris didn't sound too against it. I think I could beg forgiveness rather than permission here, if I happened to go back to the flea market on Saturday. What do y'all think?
True story: Life would be super swell if we all embraced our OMG side instead of living a Facebook-friendly existence. So, let it out. What's the thing you've bought that your significant other preferred you leave at the store? What do you think about full grown ass men who forego sex to play games? Should I be offended? I should, right? Like, maybe I deserve this sign because he bailed on sex to game? Yes. Yes, you're right. I DO deserve that sign! Good talk, guys. Feel free to disclose details. You're safe here.