Andy’s October of Suckage: Day 9

This afternoon I was sitting at the computer, watching people with more active and interesting lives fail, when there was an unexpected friendly “shave-and-a-haircut” knock on my front door. I hopped up and, after a moment of frantic legs/pants battle and a quick check of my zipper, I waddled over, opened the door, …

… and almost fell into a porno.

You know those skin flicks where the pizza delivery guy shows up and the big-tittied housewife breathlessly says “Oh, but I didn’t order a pizza.” while the pizza guy makes single entendre references to his penis?

It was like those, but backwards. I was the big-tittied housewife.

Standing on my porch, grinning as if she knew me, was some 18-year-old (I hope) blonde piece of ass I’d never seen before. I married the last blonde to make the mistake of smiling at me, so I assumed that either I was in for a sales pitch or else she was a robot sent from the future to assassinate me.

Hmm. Assassinate has two “ass”-es and one “I”, just like the showdown at my front door where I had an ass and she had an ass. Also, when you capitalize “Assassinate”, one of the “ass”-es is bigger than the other which is also apropos. I need to lose weight is what I’m saying.

Anywho…

I stand there for a beat wondering why the hell Junior Miss Salesperson/Terminator was saying “Hi” like she knew me. Blondie fills in the gap with “I’m here to babysit… But I think I’ve got the wrong house.” Still smiling.

Big Pimpin’ Andy says: “No baby, this is the place. Why don’t you come on in and I’ll fix you a cocktail. My cock, your tail.”

It wasn't this girl...

Big Pimpin’ Andy lives somewhere else, though, so she probably didn’t hear him say it. Instead she hears Fat-Ass Married Andy say “Unless you know something I don’t, you probably do have the wrong house.”

I spend a moment longer trying to help her figure out which house number she was looking for (it was mine, oddly), then say goodbye.

As I close the door my wife calls down asking who was at the door. I tell her it was the babysitter she’d called and forgotten to tell me about.

Still stuck in my haze of porno-confusion, I get a sudden mental picture of my wife setting up the babysitter scenario to surprise me. This is awesome. She bounds downstairs in a nightie to ask the barely-legal girl for her references. Vaginal references. I don’t know what that means, but Daydreaming Andy doesn’t think in complete sentences and sometimes makes up words.Fat-Ass Married Andy starts to wonder why life isn’t more like all the porn he watches.

My reverie is interrupted by her calling down again: “Did you get her number?”

Wait. I’m allowed to do that now?

Awesome.