Bridget and I were getting ready for bed a couple of nights ago, oddly enough, at the same time, and Bridget began to tell me about this “weird” sex advice show on late-night Oxygen. Apparently, some poor guy had called in, expressing surprise at the idea that uncircumsized men (which he was) have to do extra, ah, cleaning. Now Bridget, being a good little Catholic girl, was expressing disgust with the show in general, which is (according to her) presided over by an elderly lady that liked to give odd advice.
My response? “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an uncircumsized penis. Well, I’ve never seen a penis of any kind in person, not on a computer screen or something, but I don’t get an immediate mental picture of what an uncircumsized penis looks like.”
Bridget, bless her blonde soul, says, “You know, I’ve never met one either–“
“Wait. Never met one? Is that like, ‘Hello, Mr. Penis, my name is Bridget’? Oh, dear. Does that come accompanied with a handshake, or what?” Insert mad giggling. Hey, it was way after my bedtime.
Since then, I have plagued her with “Mr. Penis” jokes on her dry-erase messageboard, which usually remain there long enough without her erasing them for someone to stop by and be like, “Geez, Bridget. I didn’t think you were that kind of girl!” She gives me the evil eye if I even look like I’m going to giggle, because it’s usually about my latest message.
Despite this, Bridget has agreed to room with me, Kitty Cat, and another cool, studious friend of ours in the sophomore residence hall next year. We’re probably four of the most studious/somber (yet oh-so-fun-loving) girls on the floor, so that should work out well.