Wherein Marc brings kitchen duties back to lesbian sex

There are several tasks around the house that Marc cannot (or refuses to) do correctly. For instance, he knows that even though I love his helpful intentions when loading the dishwasher, I will come along after him to reorganize the dishes correctly. In turn, I am not allowed to participate in doing laundry given my tendency towards shrinking everything to Lilliputian size, whereas Marc has the patience to take things out at proper intervals during the dry cycle. I get distracted, what with having to breathe and blink and all of that. It’s called knowing your talents, people. (Besides being very good at laundry, Marc also excels at leaving standing water on the bathroom and kitchen counters. You would think he was part duck. But I digress.)

So yesterday, he was loading the dishwasher and I made some snarky comment while wiping up the counters after he had sprayed water all over them. And he, with utensil in hand, goes:

“Don’t make me fork you!”
“Fork? Isn’t that a euphemism for lesbian sex?”
“No, that’s scissoring.”
“Scissoring?”
“Yeah, and don’t ask me how that works, because I don’t know. But it’s totally hot.”
Long pause,
“You're going to put this onto your website, aren't you?”

He's sharp, that one.