Spartacus, the other evening, accidentally stepped on Alexis's leave in conditioner that was sitting on the couch. It ended up surprisingly not being a huge mess (did resemble jizz, but with a very fruity scent and probably is also something I don't necessarily want in the back of my throat), but he did get some on his tail.
Charles started to poke fun at him, because he knows that the surest way to get me pissed off is to arbitrarily assign gender roles to each sex. He asked me, "Why is it that I am the only male in this house that is human, I get a male dog, and he is all fruity and uses leave-in conditioner?"
After the red cloud of rage dissipated from my line of vision, I joined him in picking fun at our dog because feminist or no, I am still in possession of a very warped sense of humor. (Roast me for it later...) I told him, "Don't make fun of him for testing the boundaries. He is a metrosexual doggie! Gives a whole new meaning to doggie style!"
He picked the bottle up and said, "Well, they can't say that this is not tested on animals anymore!"
Our poor children never stood a chance with us as parents...
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