R-e-s-p-e-c-t

This morning, my husband and I found ourselves driving to my fertility dotor's office, bearing a little specimen cup containing swimmers (someone on another blog suggested carrying it between the breasteses, and damn if that wasn't a great method. I stuck the cup in between the cups of my bra, slung a sweater over top, et voila!). But more details on the why and what happened later; what I really want to convey here is our car conversation.

I had been on the phone with the lab tech earlier, and I'd asked her if it was OK that Booby come along to my appointment. She thought I meant that he wanted to fill his specimen cup right there in the office, and even when I assured her that we were going to take care of that at home, she insisted on telling me that they didn't have the proper "facilities" for this type of evacuation. I guess they don't keep a stock of nudie mags (though I often read fashion mags there that have the occasional frontal nudity, and if my memories of breaking into my brother's treehouse serve me well, National Geographic will also do in a pinch). I relayed this conversation to Booby as we drove along.

Me: "She was very insistent that you not arrive without the specimen already collected. I wanted to tell her that you weren't going to be getting your wang out right there in the office, but she wasn't hearing me!"

Him: "Honey, you must never call my ... equipment ... a wang."

Me: "I'll call it whatever I want. What, now I'm not allowed to use words like schlong or dick in reference to you?"

Him: "No. You can't."

Me: "Well, then what am I supposed to call it?"

Him: "A penis. See, you must respect the cock."

Me and Him: {hysterical laughter}

Funnily enough, we went out for breakfast afterwards, and Carman's Country Kitchen is, for some reason, festooned with penis crockery (More pictures TK!). So it was a good day to be instructed to respect the cock.