Scrots + T-Bag = True Love Forever

As you’ve likely noticed, The Boo and I have a slightly odd relationship. We tease each other endlessly (in a loving manner, of course) and the end result is often times either hilarity or tears (on my part). Either way, it’s undeniably entertaining.

Take for instance, this past Saturday afternoon. I decided I liked the name “Scrots” for Boo’s new nickname. (The O is long here, people. As in Scrotum. Don’t ask why. I just think it’s hilarious. Say it yourself and see if you don’t crack up. Even a little. See? Told you so.)

So I proceed to relentlessly refer to him as “Scrots” as many times as humanly possible in the ensuing 5 minutes. Naturally, he hated it and told me to cut it out. Seeing I was effectively doing my job of annoying/pissing him off, I continued with the name-calling tenacity of an 8 year old. (I got skill.)

Finally, the Boo had had enough. He warned me that if I didn’t stop, aforementioned sack (you might remember our last meeting with it here) would promptly end up on my face. Loving a challenge and not thinking my precious Boo could ever do anything so heinous, I called his bluff.

“Whatever, Scrots!”

Let’s just say he wasn’t playing around.

Two seconds after the words left my mouth, I found myself pinned to the couch laughing/screaming/almost wetting myself as my neck/hair/back of head had a tete-a’-tete with Scrots himself. It was hilarious and terrifying at the same time.

Needless to say, I’ve got my own nickname now.

T-Bag. Not so funny.