|
tender_square
|
“i have a physical tomorrow,” brea shouted through the speakerphone. “i’m going to get my booster shot while i’m there.”
“will you have to get a pap?” i asked.
“god, i hope not,” she sighed.
“i was going to say that if you did, i have a song i wrote for such occasions.” i heard mom laugh in the background. “do you want to hear it?”
“hell yeah, i do!”
“wait—” mom said. “your dad is here in the kitchen eating lunch; is he going to be grossed out?”
“uh, i don’t think so,” i started. “i mean, it has the word ‘vagina’ in it, but that’s about it.” after a pause i decided to proceed. it wasn’t a very long song; even if it made dad squirm it'd be for, like, five seconds tops. i started belting out a cheerful tune for the worst part about going to the doctor's: “gon-na go get my vag-ina swabbed! gon-na go get it sw-ab-bed!”
silence.
“was that it?” mom asked.
“yeah, it’s not much.”
“it reminds me of a song that linda belcher would sing,” she said.
“mom…that’s like the greatest compliment you’ve ever given me,” i gushed. “i fucking love linda belcher!”
brea and mom and i then gabbed about our love for "bob’s burgers." we decided we’re going to watch some episodes when we’re hanging out over christmas; i’ve fallen behind on the latest season.
my poor introverted father. my poor introverted husband. they don’t like the show like we do, they don’t see what’s so funny about it, probably because they live with linda belcher’s—chatty, loud, laughing ladies. they don’t see a need to experience even more of what they already get enough of on a daily basis.
|
211217
|
