If you aren’t thinking to yourself, Thanks, I just had it stuffed, then this may not be the post for you. Here’s this thing: most of you know by now that my kids’ sense of humor lies somewhere between Teletoons and anything from the Judd Apatow canon (case in point: today my daughter did a pratfall on the couch, grabbed her butt and yelled, “D’oh – I just cracked my corn!”). Sadly, my husband and I have nobody to blame for their crassness but ourselves.

When I met my beloved, he fronted like the perfect European gentleman (ten years later, I have yet to hear him burp) but slowly he started to reveal his inner Kenny (& Spenny).

Before kids, we doted on a surrogate child named Dude, a gorgeous grey tabby cat that a roommate of mine had rescued from the pound and I took with me after moving out. The following conversation is one that was repeated constantly in our house:

Me: “Babe, have you seen my pussy?”
Husband: “Of course I have – your pussy is spectacular! Your pussy is my favorite pussy of all time.”
Me: “It’s true…my pussy is exceptional, but lately my pussy has been shedding a lot.”
Us: (Convulsing fits of laughter)

After getting knocked up, we moved to the ‘burbs, where our community newspaper is called (no joke) The Beaver. Now our exchanges sound something like this (especially on flyer day):

Me: “Babe, you should check out my beaver…”
Husband: “I’d love to see your beaver – bring it on over…”
Me (Holding up the rolled newspaper): “You see? My beaver is absolutely overflowing today!”
Husband: “That’s the biggest I’ve seen your beaver look in quite some time.”
Us: (Rolling on the floor in hysterics)

When the cat died, we briefly considered naming our ottoman ‘pussy’ to keep the jokes going, but there was no need: since having kids – particularly our son, who never met a fart joke he didn’t repeat 80 times a day – my husband has found the perfect audience for his myriad of gags, magic tricks and all around juvenile behaviour.

Unfortunately, our kids are fairly smart and will probably grow out of our humor well before high school. This worries me because my husband craves a receptive audience and I fear he’ll want to knock me up again (we all know that ain’t happening). I suspect the solution lies in – wait for it – a brand new pussy.

My dearly departed pussy.