Your parents arrived two hours early. Pour some Super Tuscan for your mother pronto. You know how she gets after long car rides.
Your father already made a joke about ‘cowards who still wear masks.’ Pour me a glass too.
Ugh, they brought a Harry & David cheese basket. Put it on the table, I guess.
Did your father bring a handgun to dinner? Check out the bulge under his blazer. Does he think someone’s going to steal that cheese basket?
Their accents are so thick. Would it be rude of me to ask them to repeat themselves?
How can someone from Nebraska not want to talk about football, like, at all? Ask me about today’s practice.
Okay once your mother stops talking about your brother the “big-city lawyer,” I’ll bring up your poem in the current issue of The Kenyon Review.
Something doesn’t feel right; why are they talking so much about primary school mask mandates? I sense an agenda. Switch topic, switch topic!
Stop talking so much about loving our niece and nephew. You know where conversations like that lead.
Hannah Montana! Kramer right slot 80!
Here we go: now your mother won’t talk about anything else except us having children. I’m gonna knock over my glass of Super Tuscan to cause a distraction.
Zero Dark Thirty!
When I was sponging the carpet I found our Love Honey Massage Wand. We need to be more careful about leaving these things out. I’m going to wrap it up in these towels and casually hide it in the kitchen.
And while I was in the kitchen hiding the Massage Wand, I found its Flubber massager attachment in the utensil drawer. Mmm, last night we destroyed the kitchen island.
This is the third time your mother’s visited the restroom, and yet: not one flush.
Your mother’s been in the “restroom” for a long time. We should check on her.
You know how much your mother loves to snoop around; one of us should go up to our bedroom and hide our velvet plush handcuffs from Smile Makers.
Shoot, I also left out our Spreader Bar Cushion from Yandy.
Vasco da Gama!
I’m going upstairs to look for her.
I told you she’s a snooper! She found the spreader bar in our bedroom—I told her it was Pilates equipment. She believed me until she found our Coco de Mer flogger. Am trying to convince her it’s for dusting.
Panic at the Disco!
In the library, she also found the Ann Summers Moregasm Petite G Spotter, which was next to the We-Vibe Verge Vibrating Ring and the OhMiBod Club Vibe remote control vibrator.
White 80 Sprint! Karma Karma!
More Super Tuscan! In the laundry room she found our Fuze Toys Tango Double-ended Dildo, a bottle of Pjur Woman Nude Lubricant, and you won’t believe this but she’s somehow gotten strands of Self+ JimmyJane Bondage Tape stuck to her blouse.
Keats Frost Angelou Pound 86!
The only thing she didn’t notice was the copy of The Kenyon Review that I left in the bathroom hoping she’d notice your poem while she was on the can.
Alert Alert! Betty White Reverse!
Head’s up: she found our sex dungeon.
Now she’s seen it all: the padded walls, the restraint system, the cage, the saddles, the swing, the lingerie mannequin maze. As I hustled your mother out of there she said “how can people who fuck this much not give me a grandchild?”
FOMO! Z-wide Turtle!
Do NOT let her tell your father about the sex dungeon.
Shit, she’s telling your father about the sex dungeon.
Your father says we should have two kids, name them Sara and Matt, and refer to them as S&M. Change the subject to that documentary about the Beatles.
Oh perfect. Somehow, my Hot Octopus Pulse Duo Guybrator found its way into the M&M dish. And… your dad ate it.
Babe, you know I love your apple cobbler but I can’t take this anymore. If they make one more crack about “whipping up a baby,” “dominating a delivery room,” or “submitting to our deepest desires… for grandchildren,” I’m driving over to the casino to clear my head at the craps table.
Anaïs Nin Kamikaze!
Text me when they’re gone. When I come back, we’re going to exhaust the Weekend-in-Bed Lovers’ Bondage kit from Adam & Eve.