Fictionlet
“Boobs,” he said. “I have a problem with boobs.”
Brigid gave Greg a sideways look. “Most men do,” she commented.
“No, I mean I have a problem with the word ‘boobs.’ I don’t like it when women call their breasts ‘boobs.’ What are you laughing at?”
“Why,” she managed to get out, “don’t you like the word ‘boobs’?”
He scowled at a far corner of the room. “I just don’t, okay? It’s … I dunno. It’s demeaning.”
Brigid blinked. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. They … er … ‘boobs’ is goofy. I mean, ‘breasts’ isn’t exactly a beautiful word, but at least it’s not goofy.”
Brigid was laughing even harder now. “Yes, we must take very seriously the all-sacred boobies!” She began violently wiggling her torso in a particularly lewd manner.
“Stop that!” said Greg, jumping to his feet and moving away.
“Oh come on,” she said. “You’re being ridiculous! If you can call yours a wiener, I can call mine boobies!”
Greg frowned. “Well I don’t much like the word ‘wiener’ either!”
Brigid rolled her eyes and sighed. “You’re hopeless,” she said, and headed for the kitchen.
“At least I’m consistent!” he announced to her retreating back.
-The Gneech
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