From an actual conversation in bed tonight:
“I read an interesting penis article today. ”
“Here we go.” Two seconds ago he thought we were finished talking and I would let him fall asleep now.
“Did you know in outer space your lower extremities don’t exist? ”
“There’s no up or down, like Ender figured out in the arena at battle school.”
“Serena, there was no mention of a penis in Ender’s Game.” His tone is something close to accusation of blasphemy.
“Correct. And that would be a story, not an article.” I’m a stickler for semantics. “So if there’s no up or down, there’s no lower extremities.”
“Was this article about disappearing space penises?”
I don’t know where he comes up with this stuff.
“Not exactly. The article was about how penises shrink in outer space because there is no gravity to help draw blood to the area.”
“Are you stalking NASA Astronaut Scott Kelly again?”
“It’s not stalking if he’s on the space station and literally photographing his location every forty-five minutes.” I might sound too defensive. “But no. I wasn’t thinking of Kelly’s penis. You made this weird.”
“But it made me think – if gravity isn’t helping your blood get to the completely equal extremities, it’s all dependant on your heart.”
“Your heart has to pump extra hard to get blood all the way to your toes because they’re so far away now. That would be a big strain on cardiac output.”
“You know what this means?” I feel a baby sob welling in my chest.
“I probably can’t ever go to space.”
:::::: Really loud snore :::::
I didn’t actually have any ideations of space travel; at least, not since 4th grade when Chad Brewer laughed at me and told me girls couldn’t be astronauts. And right this minute, I’m losing sleep for the second time in my life over this.
I hope somebody is snoring in that butt hole Chad Brewer’s face tonight, too.