About a week ago, SML was feeling stressed out so I took it upon myself to make him feel better. You know. By talking dirty. Let me preface this by saying that I don’t normally talk dirty. I’ve had conversations with myself about this before and we both agreed that it’s easier to respond to dirty talking with questions like, “So how’s the weather?”

Since I can’t possibly bear to embarrass myself further by disclosing what it was that I said, I’ll just say it had a lot to do with “who’s the boss”. I didn’t get far, because I was interrupted by a cough that came from the next room. That really loud, throat-clearing cough left me completely paralyzed as I tried to tell myself that I shouldn’t really try to fit my head down SML’s food disposal.

SML’s sister, who coincidentally shares the same name as my sister, was home visiting from college and was staying in that room. I took a couple of moments to calm down before I told SML that there was no way we could go back to his house. Ever. Because if I ever had to go back there and look SML’s sister in the face, I would melt into a puddle of goop knowing that she knew her brother was dating a total perv.

The next Sunday, SML came into my kitchen and said in a very British accent, “My Dad invited us to dinner, should I send a pigeon?” When I asked whether or not his sister was going to be there he responded with, “Why? Are you afraid she’s going to ask whether or not I like being the boss at my new job?”

At dinner I got to sit directly across from SML’s sister. And she cleared her throat more than once.

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