Tuesday, October 19, 2004

Buddy-Jacking and Other Perversions

So I recently found out that my husband is a buddy-jacker. I guess no marriage is perfect. I mean, I confess to doing my fair share of crazy shit in my time, stuff I know Jason wouldn't approve of, but that was before I met him. Now to hear from his own dirty little mouth that this has been going on behind my back for some time, it's almost too much to bear. The other night he tells me he was with a 42-year old woman with sweaty palms named Doris. And the night before that, with a tall skinny man who smelled "off" and fidgeted. How can I compete with people like that? I wouldn't even want to!

My first instinct of course is to forbid this kind of activity, but Jason is quick to point out that if he stopped, I'd have to stop buying so many shoes (yes, that's right, people pay him to commit these lewd acts). Hmm...preserve the purity of my husband, or leave those pretty little pink pumps with the bows on the sides on the shelf? That's not even a question. I mean, I already bought a top that would go with the shoes and give me a fabulous ensemble!

So for now, I guess I'll just have to deal with Jason going off to buddy-jack, sometimes for 2 or 3 hours per night. There was none of this in Ottawa, that's for sure, but it doesn't altogether surprise me that this kind of thing goes on in Cornwall. In Ottawa, when Jason listened to another representative take calls from other cell phone customers, it was called a sit-in. That sounds so much more reasonable. In Cornwall, it's called buddy-jacking, and it's hard to wipe the smirk off his face every time he says it.

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