Ceiling Pussy

We have a crack in our ceiling that, over the past couple of years, seems to have expanded and blossomed into what we’re currently calling . . . the “Ceiling-Pussy”. I had tried to convey this to my darling wife for some time now, but a couple of weeks ago, while under the influence of cannabis, she seemed to be more receptive. This is what that conversation looked like. I mean . . . this is what I remember it being. I might be off by a couple of details, but the gist is there.

Wife – You know, it does look like a ceiling pussy.
Me – I told you so, that crack in the ceiling does look a pussy. A Ceiling-Pussy.
Wife – Or a monster mouth.
Me – That Ceiling-Pussy looks a little on the rough side. Like it has ceiling Chlamydia or ceiling HPV.
Wife - *Laughs* No, now it looks like Eduardo (from “Foster’s Home For Imaginary Friends”)
Me – It looks like Pac-Man to me. Getting ready to eat. And he has a hat on, kind of like a cowboy hat.
Wife – What?
Me – Shut-up . . .
Wife – What was that? What do you mean?
Me – All I know is that “Shut up” ends all arguments. I win!
Wife – Whatever, where’s this hat.
Me – It’s tipped to the side like young black people wear their hats these days, like that one douche-bag on “I Love New York”.
Wife – Oh yeah, I can totally see it now. It looks that Wal-Mart guy.
Me – What? The one that slashes down prices? That Wal-Mart guy can go suck it! Fuck him.
Wife – Shut up.
Me – What? See . . . you’re using it too.
Wife – Callate la boca.
Me – Don’t use my people against me.
Wife – It now looks like the female Pac-Man . . . you know MS. PAC-MAN.
Me – Thanks for the biology lesson there. You cleared up that scientific fact pretty nice.
Wife - Fuck off, you know what I meant.
Me - Yeah, what were we talking about again?

We both started laughing at this point as we forgot what we were talking about. Things like that tend to happen when we’ve been smoking. The important thing is that it came back to me, and now is fodder for this little blog.