Careful What You Mutter, Lest It Be Taken As A Real Proposal
Like a lot of people who spend a good deal of time by themselves, Calico has the habit of talking to herself — sometimes far too loudly as a mutter. Luckily, she doesn’t indulge in this practice when she’s out in public, or people would call the cops out to do “wellness checks” on her even more often than they already do.
Still, Calico’s tendency to talk to herself isn’t entirely without its problems, particularly when her husband thinks the muttering and notes-to-self that he overhears are being directed toward him. It’s bad enough when he thinks he’s being criticized unfairly when Calico reacts out loud to an article about some irredeemable jerk in the news, but far worse when the subject is… um… let’s just say “sexually charged.”
So, what trouble jumped off from one of Calico’s recent self-talks? What confusing, disturbing thing did her husband think he was being asked to do? Find out in Calico’s new post “Careful What You Mutter, Lest It Be Taken As A Real Proposal” .
by Calico Rudasill, Sssh.com, Sssh.com Adult Entertainment for Women
I have this unfortunate tendency to mutter to myself as I browse news online, particularly when I’m in search of a good topic to write about.
I’ll mull things over briefly as I click around, alternating back and forth between questions about whatever the subject may be (“How did the gecko wind up in the beer in the first place?”), or observations about how dumb or irritating someone referenced in the story is (“Really? He’s pardoning Mike-fucking-Milken now?”), or maybe just spout some string of nonsense in a moment of disbelief (“What the… but… is this… how… who decides what’s worthy of tracking as a world record, anyway?).
This habit of mine wouldn’t be a problem – except my husband is often nearby when I’m talking to myself in this way, and on occasion it has been known to produce confusion, consternation, or even heated arguments when he thinks I’m addressing him, not just talking to myself.
Mutter – How NOT To Do It
One recent misunderstanding flowing from me talking to myself was truly unfortunate – and, from my husband’s perspective, probably more than a little disturbing. It all started when I was reading one of the latest letters sent to “How To Do It”, Slate’s sex advice column handled by Stoya and Rich Juzwiak.
“For as long as I have known her, my wife has been interested in ‘incest’ role play,” wrote a reader identified as ‘Brother’s Keeper.’ “While it isn’t my cup of tea exactly, I have been willing and happy to support her in her exploration of this kind of fantasy and role-play. Often, she will have me dress up as her father, wear his cologne, etc., while she will wear her ‘high school’ clothes.”
Odd though that might seem to some folks, there was nothing there so far that would trigger my talk-to-myself impulse. That fact lasted for about four more sentences.
“A few nights ago, and after a few drinks, my wife got to talking fairly explicitly about some of the ‘family’ role-playing that she and I are into, and her brother—who I thought would be kinda horrified—was not only entirely supportive, but vaguely expressed interest in exploring this kink with us,” the letter continued.
OK, now we’re talking! (To ourselves, that is.)
Mutter This – It’s Like a Family Feud Category: “The Family that (Blanks) Together Sticks Together”
“When we got home, I expected my wife to make it clear that her brother ever joining us in the bedroom was entirely off the table, but instead she seemed to think it was a really good idea,” the letter went on.
“Wow,” I said aloud.
Later, after much confused back and forth, it turns out my husband sort of half-heard me say wow and called in from the other room: “What was that?” I was so absorbed in the letter, however, that his response didn’t register with me at all.
“Hey honey,” I said, jokingly imagining myself approaching my husband with an idea like the one Brother’s Keeper was describing. “Let’s hook with my brother – he’s cheaper than an escort and a much better conversationalist.”
“In principle, I don’t have a problem with the idea,” the letter continued.
At this point, my muttered commentary had adopted a more conversational volume, without me becoming aware it had done so. Not realizing that my husband had entered the room and was now standing a few feet behind me, I continued with my rant-to-self.
“Sure,” I said, rather loudly now, “why would anyone have a problem, in principle, with having sex with me and my brother?”
“Uh, I have a problem with that idea,” I heard a voice behind me say. “Not a problem merely in principle, but in fact, in practice, in theory AND in principle.”
As awkward as that scene was, from the moment I realized my husband was standing there through the moment he absorbed my explanation, it could have been much worse. After all, later that day, I had occasion to exclaim “If I broker a date with myself, can I just keep the 25 grand?”