A few mornings ago, I let Licorice hop into bed with Otto after I let her out. She commenced furiously licking his neck, which—because we’d read some article that basically said, “You think your dog is kissing you when she licks your mouth, but really she is hoping you’ll vomit up whatever you just ate, just like her wolf ancestors would’ve done”—caused Otto to peer at her and say, “No matter how many times you lick my Adam’s apple, it’s not going to cause yummy vomit to come spewing out of it.”
We had a good laugh over that, because we are twisted individuals.
And then that night, lying in bed, there was perhaps a bit of smooching happening, and I kissed his neck, and he murmured, “I’m not throwing up out my Adam’s apple for you, either.” And I laughed until I choked, but seriously, now. I am going to have a big neon sign made up where I can just flick a switch, and the bedroom will light up with, “Foreplay: UR DOIN IT WRONG.”