Rocco: You look nice this morning.
Rocco: *waggles eyebrows*
Rocco: *jerks head towards bedroom*
Rocco: I didn’t even ask anything yet.
Rocco: Let’s go in the other room and ravage each other.
Rocco: No? Are you sure?
Rocco: The boy is entertained on the mat…
Me: That’ll last all of two minutes.
Rocco: That’s enough time for me.
Me: The dishwasher is full, the counter is coated, and he’s wearing the last diaper. I’m not really into “ravaging” while the house is trashed.
Rocco: Maybe we should look into a cleaning person.
Me: I thought you didn’t want to pay for cleaning.
Rocco: I don’t. But I’m happy to pay for sex.
dude, if you have the slightest bit of opportunity, do it for those of us without a Rocco. I AM SO FUNNY. And well.
… Okay, can’t fault that logic. Give the man a cookie for creative nookie-enablement!
I understand from those with kids that if you wait until the house is clean and everything is under control, you will not have sex again until the kid is grown up and moved away from home.
And those of us with kids are probably cool with that;)
I just love Rocco.
Did you steal my husband?!
Tell him to clean the house naked while you watch. I’m sure that’s a big fetish in some foreign country…
There’s absolutely no justice in the world if that final comment didn’t get Rocco laid. Just sayin.
Wait until they can hatch an evil plan to crawl commando stealth like up to your barricaded door with a flip cam to try and catch a session through the keyhole for later distribution on YouTube. After an extensive recuperation period where they are hospitalized for shock, non stop vomiting and scorched retinas they tell you that their soul is destroyed and they talk about all your moves at the dinner table.
I guess the moral of this story would be that it’s better to get plowed on a filthy counter full of rancid dishes while your kid shits through the last Pamper than to star in your own badly edited kid helmed Behind The Green Door.
And following on the heels of Dufmanno’s comment, it’s also better than having to extricate your wrists from the headboard when the phone rings and your 16 year old says, “Hey, listen, I sort of hit this guy on a motorcycle, but he’s OK. He didn’t even want to go to the hospital. He’s just sitting on the curb. His bike is sort of totaled, but your car is OK.” So do it now.
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