Jeff and I, despite having been together for going on six years, are still in love. Obnoxiously so. Our friends have even made a point of bringing it to our attention. Still, we persist. Like most couples, we have our shorthand, inside jokes, and games.
Like punchbuggies.
If you’re between the ages of 1 and 100, you know the game- give a shot in the arm to your buddy when you see a VW Bug. No big. Jeff and I though- we’re Olympic level punchbuggers.
I have just now decided that we need a new name for that.
Anyhow… So, we have extra rules. Double-hits if the Bug is close but nobody’s noticed it. Double-hits if it’s a classic. Also double-hits if I had a bad day or if Jeff said something snarky.
So, we have the game. Yesterday, I was walking Jeff and Rum home from their office and spotted a lime-green Bug zooming down Helmcken Street, and gave Jeff the customary “punchbuggy green, no punchbacks” and gave him a shot in the arm. He turned around too late to see the Bug.
Jeff politely inquired to my about whether there really was a green Bug. I politely confirmed my previous smack was correct and offered to kick him in the butt for doubting my honesty.
“Besides,” I continued, “when have you ever known me to fudge a punchbuggy?”
Jeff stopped and looked at me for a minute, with that old familiar look that says “there’s something truly filthy within arm’s reach of that phrase, I just can’t find it.”
I nodded. “Yep. Fudge a punchbuggy. We gotta find something really rude to apply this to.”
Suggestions? Maybe, “lie to you? I’d sooner fudge a punchbuggy.” How about “I’m so hungry I could fudge a punchbuggy.” My favourite so far is “I was so drunk I think I fudged a punchbuggy. Now I have to go to the free clinic and get tested.”
The English language is just poetic, no?
BTW, we also have a game where we kick each other in the ass every time we see a Porsche. Not even kidding.
