“Water? At a wedding? I don’t understand,” he asks in confusion. “Did you invite Jesus? That’s the only way that will be acceptable.”

“Really?   Because I recall you asking the Elvis impersonator at your Vegas wedding if he could add a line to Jenny’s vows that said, ‘I promise to always give blow jobs with a smile on my face and love in my heart,”

“Did you see that? The fuck I give. It went that way.”

“Oh fuck, he was right there. I was wet as hell and he could probably smell me now. I should have eaten strawberries or melon or a dozen roses or an entire mint plant. Did that work for women? I read an article that it worked for men. Their spunk tasted like what they ate. Did my vagina taste like spaghetti right now? God dammit! I shouldn't have eaten dinner!”

“Oh Sweet Jesus. Sweet mother fucking fuckery of fucks.”

“She smells like chocolate and I don’t like to be spanked.”

“Are you really going back there with me?" I ask."Hell yes I am. Your wish is finally coming true. I will see your vagina. Plus, I really want to see the look on that woman's face when she gets a peek at your plethora of pubes. Your copious curls, your abundant bush, the wild mane that if it sees a spark will start a forest fire," she states."Are you finished?" I ask irritably."I think so. But give me five minutes and I might be able to get one more in.”