44 Chapters About 4 Men - BB Easton Page 0,76

after polishing off the very same glorified thimbleful of white wine, Ken eyed my empty vessel and asked, “How drunk are you?” with an unusually wicked, predatory look in his eyes.

Not wanting him to see me sweat, I cocked one eyebrow, stared him right in the face, and slurred, “As drunk as I am every night.”

Before I had a chance to flip/flick him off again, I found myself being dragged down the hallway by the wrist toward our bedroom. When my eyes finally adjusted to the dark, I noticed, arranged clinically on the nightstand, a roll of toilet paper, a damp washcloth, a vibrator, and an expired tube of Wet lubricant that was given to Ken by his gay male coworker nine years ago as a bachelor party gag gift.

My first instinct should have been to protect my poor, leprous, postpartum rectum from being penetrated by pointing to a shadowy corner and screaming, Tarantula! before making a mad dash for the master bathroom.

Then, while Ken dutifully looked for an imaginary spider to protect me from, I could have been loudly rummaging through all the drawers and cabinets while shouting through the door, Honey? Have you seen the Pepto? That spicy chili you made is tearing me up!

But, before my wine-soaked brain could register what was happening, I absentmindedly picked up the dusty old tube of lube and flipped it over, curious to see if that AOL-era shit had an expiration date printed anywhere. Just as I suspected, I saw June 12, 2009. That goo was so old that I’m pretty sure the instant it touched Ken’s penis, his skin would have fallen right off like some kind macabre banana peel.

Tut, tut.

I immediately tossed it aside and pulled open my nightstand drawer to retrieve the much newer tube of K-Y gel I’d bought a few months prior as a precaution before my daughter was born.

(For those of you who haven’t pushed a baby with a head in the ninety-eighth percentile out of your vagina, putting anything back in there for the next eight to ten months requires a fistful of Vicodin, a stick to bite down on, a transcendental happy place, and a shit-ton of lube. I learned that lesson after my firstborn had a head like Newt Gingrich. The miles of scar tissue he left in his wake caused my vag to feel and behave as if it had grown a thousand hymens overnight. Happily, my daughter’s dainty little noggin was half the size of her brother’s, so the K-Y had been an unnecessary precaution.)

It wasn’t until I caught sight of Ken’s elated expectant expression out of the corner of my eye that I finally registered the magnitude of what I had just done.

Gulp.

By casually pulling out that tube of K-Y, instead of setting off the burglar alarm and running into the middle of the cul-de-sac to blow my rape whistle, I had essentially given Ken my passive consent to sodomize me. This was happening.

I might be a lot of things, Journal, but a whore is one of them. I’d made this bed, and I was going to have to lie in it—on my side with one leg in the air like Elton John on his honeymoon. Besides, I was probably just intoxicated enough to not be able to feel my anus—or so I hoped.

In other news, I’ll be switching to beer—indefinitely.

We Both Have Gmail Accounts. It’s Like We Want to Get Fired.

FROM: B. B. EASTON

TO: KENNETH EASTON

DATE: THURSDAY, MARCH 6, 12:36 P.M.

SUBJECT: FRENCH IMMERSION

Hey Boo Bear,

I just found out that the new elementary school down the street is going to pilot a new French immersion program starting next year. I’m so excited! It’s going to be the only one in the county! Maybe if I grease some palms, we can get Little Man enrolled for kindergarten. That way he’ll be fluent enough by second grade to translate for us while we’re summering in Paris.

(BTW- I’ve decided we’re going to start summering in Paris. I’m putting it on my vision board tonight.)

B. B. Easton, Ed.S.

Oppressed School Psychologist

Conservative Public School System That Probably Still Supports the Confederacy

FROM: KENNETH EASTON

TO: B. B. EASTON

DATE: THURSDAY, MARCH 6, 12:45 P.M.

SUBJECT: RE: FRENCH IMMERSION

Sounds good. I assume other schools will start picking up these programs, so bribery is probably unnecessary.

You should also put some winning lottery numbers on your vision board, if you want to summer in Paris.

We can revisit this conversation at a later date.

Kenneth Easton

Blah, Blah Financial Money-Stuff Person

AGTBRF (Some Fucking Acronym I