“Seriously? That can happen?” I ask Uncle Drew.
“You are never to speak of my yeast infection again,” he warns me before turning around to look at Aunt Jenny. “And, honey, I’m not talking about that night with the tubes of Pillsbury dough. I’m talking about the Brady Bunch thing. Where I’m Greg and you’re Marsha and you accidentally touch my penis at the dinner table while Alice serves us spaghetti.”
I’m going to throw up. It’s happening right now.
“Oh, I don’t like that one. The blow-up doll we use as Alice looks at me funny. I think she’s judging me,” Aunt Jenny complains.
“Yeah, Alice is kind of a bitch. I’ll blindfold her next time. Anyhoo, give me the list. I need to make sure you know what you’re doing,” Uncle Drew demands.
“Really, it’s not necessary. I’ve got it under control.”
Uncle Drew laughs and shakes his head at me. “You’ve puked in front of her, wrapped your schlong in a bow, and showed it to the entire city. You don’t have it under control. What we have here is a failure to know what the f**k you’re doing when it comes to chicks.”
Getting up from my desk, he walks over to the dry erase board on my wall and uncaps a marker. He writes moist folds in big, black letters across the top.
“Oh my God, erase that,” I complain.
“Fuck your mother, I’m not erasing it. This is important,” Uncle Drew says before writing role-playing right underneath it.
“What temperature is your ball sack running at now?” he asks, turning around and narrowing his eyes at me.
“What? I don’t know. Why are you asking me this?”
“Dude, to effectively produce sperm, your testicles need to be at least two degrees cooler than your core temperature. You should ice those little nuggets.”
Is this really happening right now?
“Or he could just stick a pair of sunglasses on his little balls. That would be cute!” Aunt Jenny laughs and claps her hands together in glee.
“Ha-ha, totally! A little pair of Hello Kitty sunglasses and a bonnet for his un-fucking-cool testicles,” Uncle Drew adds with a laugh.
“Can we please stop talking about my testicles?”
“You’re such a buzz kill, dude. Okay, next. Gag the groin ferret,” he states.
“I have no idea what that means,” I complain, watching him write the words on the board.
“Um, hello? Whack off, gag the groin ferret, spank the monkey, bludgeoning the beefsteak, corralling the tadpoles, tweaking the toucan. You should be doing it at least eight to twelve times a day at this point.”
I wince thinking about how I spent my evening after the ribbon cutting ceremony. I’m pretty sure I will never jerk off again.
“Can I bring out the condoms and banana now? Pretty please?” Aunt Jenny begs.
“I know how to put a condom on. There’s no need for that,” I tell her with a roll of my eyes.
“Are you sure about that? Last I heard, you were using them as balloons,” Uncle Drew says with a laugh.
“Oh my God, I was FOUR when that happened. It stopped being funny twenty years ago!” I complain.
“I just thought of another one, Drew. Make sure you do hallucinogenics before and after sex. You don’t want your muscles tightening up on you,” Aunt Jenny explains.
“Are you saying I should take drugs to have sex with Charlotte? I don’t even understand what is going on right now.”
Uncle Drew shakes his head at both of us before turning back to the board.
“She means calisthenics. Although a little pot might be just the ticket for you. If you get really stoned, it won’t even matter that you have a small penis and have no idea how to please a woman,” he says with a laugh.
“Fuck off, old man. I don’t have a small penis. And I know how to please a woman,” I fire back.
“Really? Quick, what are the ten erogenous zones on a woman? GO!” he shouts.
“I love when Drew touches my erroneous zones,” Aunt Jenny says with a sigh.
Ignoring her, I run through every article I’ve ever read in a magazine or online. “GAAAAH! Fuck! Um, neck, lips, feet, inner thighs—”
“BZZZZZZZZZZ. WRONG, FUCKER!” Drew interrupts.
“What? Those were totally right. And I wasn’t done yet,” I argue.
“Those are wrong. Want to know what the ten erogenous zones on a woman are? Number one: vagina. Number two: it doesn’t f**king matter if you’re touching her vagina right!” Uncle Drew shouts. “You are a disgrace. Your mother should have swallowed.”
I give him the finger before he turns back to the board and begins scribbling furiously.
“Jenny, get the lawn darts and the graham crackers out of your bag. We’re sending Gavin back to Sex-Ed. By the time we’re done with you, Charlotte will be eating out of your hand. Literally. Jenny does this awesome thing with Nutella and a lint brush that will blow your mind.”
Before my aunt and uncle walked into my office today, I had sworn off the list that Tyler and I made, vowing to never look at it again. Right now, that list is looking better and better.
Chapter 8 – Stick Your Tongue Down Her Throat
The only way to forget everything I saw today is to bleach my eyes. But that really isn’t an option since I’d still like to be able to look at Charlotte. Instead, I’m getting drunk.
“You know what word isn’t used enough in the English language? Anal glands.”