A deal's a deal

So, PHubby and I have a deal. He will quit chewing on his cuticles/hangnails, and I will stop making "your mom" jokes to him.

I know; it's a bad deal. Chewing on skin is disgusting, and "your mom" jokes are awesome. That's the deal we made, though, so I'll have to live with it.

A few minutes ago, PHubby starts chewing on his skin. I say, "Your mom chews her skin," and he stops.

Then, I recommend a new plan. Kind of like a cursing jar, we'd set up a system where we'd contribute quarters to our own jars when we messed up.

At the end of the week, whoever had the least number of quarters would have the difference between the two jars in allowed indulgences. (Thank you, my misguided Catholic brethren.)

It would break down like this:

Say I had 27 quarters, and he had 32 quarters. He screwed up five more times, so I would get five free "your mom" jokes to use at any time.

Pretty good plan, right? Here's how the debate continued:

PHubby: Let's do that, but replace the indulgence with minutes of oral sex. I screw up five extra times, and each quarter is worth 5 minutes, so you would get 35 minutes of oral sex.
(He's bad at math, but he's a demon in the sack.)


Me: *thinking* *considers* Um. Hm. I think I'll take the "your mom" jokes.

PHubby: WHAT?! Fine.

Me: It's nothing against you. I really like the oral. It's just ... "your mom" jokes are that fun.

PHubby: No, no. It's fine. Next time you're ready for oral sex, I'll just let you sit in bed and tell 'your mom' jokes while I whack off ...


*pause*


Let's just repeat that in slow mo', k?


He said, and I quote, "I'll just let you sit in bed and tell 'your mom' jokes while I whack off."


Not clear? OK. Let's try this: Whose mom would I be talking about if I were telling him "your mom" jokes. Think about it. K, got it?


No?


All right. I'll just tell you.


My husband just proposed that he jerk off to my musings about his mother being a whore, being loose, being easy, birthing lots of children, having VD, eating McDonalds all the time, having only one stripe on her pajamas, etc., etc.


K. Back to the action

Me: *staring at him until he understands what he's just said.*

 PHubby: *bewilderment, confusion, then sudden realization* Ew!  EW!

Me: *doubled over with laughter*

PHubby: What are you doing?

Me: *clickety clickety clack*

PHubby: PUT. THAT. DOWN.

Me: *laughing, typing*

PHubby: Are you blogging that or tweeting that?

Me: Blogging.

PHubby: Good. Because there's no WAY you could tweet that without me looking like a freak.

Me: Not in 140 characters.