[Insert Scathingly Brilliant Title Here]

Derrick is sick.

He can't speak. Rather, he can, but only in a whisper. Combining a whispering man with a woman who has some natural hearing loss makes for a joyous cocktail of household harmony.

It's fun.

Call me a wicked woman if you will, but I'm rather liking this whole clicks-whistles and throwing things at each other method of communication. We've developed a sort of perverse sign language. A semi-hypothetical example of our exchanges:

Me: Honey, what do you need from the grocery store?
Him: [grabs my boob]
Me: I don't think you can get those at the grocery store, though I'm sure if you want them badly enough we can make arrangements....
Him: [Shakes head "no"] [Points at freezer]
Me: Oh...we're out of Chicken Breast already?
Him: [Nods vigorously]

Watching the Oscars with a mute is fun too.

Me: Wow, I love that dress
Him: [makes the "tiny" gesture with his hands]
Me: I know, skinny bitch.
Me: And look at Jennifer Garner!
Him: [Makes the "big boobs" symbol]
Me: Yeah, baby boobs...
Him: [Makes a "3 X" with his fingers and looks hopeful]
Me: Yes, someday sweetie, someday....

It's official, blogging about boobs is my new favorite thing.