Annette:Allow me to set the scene.
Brooke:Should I pour a glass of wine for this?
Annette:It's not even 9 a.m. yet, so maybe not.
Brooke:Seems like an arbitrary reason, but okay. Set the scene.
Annette:It's early this morning. Before Jackson's alarm goes off. We're having sex and things are good. As far as pre-dawn sex goes, it's real nice.
Brooke:I don't even remember what pre-dawn sex is like.
Annette:Oh, honey.
Brooke:Ignore me. Carry on. Seriously, I need to find out how you died.
Annette:Like I said, real nice pre-dawn sex…until a sound emerges from my body.
Annette:It was a deep squelching sound. A cross between a deflating windbag and aggressively stirring macaroni and cheese.
Annette:And it might've been fine if it happened just once. But much in the way aftershocks follow an earthquake, there were several smaller but equally noticeable squelches.
Brooke:Some might call that a queef.
Annette:No. A queef is too dainty for this noise. This was aggressive. Like a vaginal cannon blast. I don't know how he stayed inside me.
Brooke:What did you do?
Annette:I died. Right there on the bed.
Brooke:How did Jackson handle it? Did he say anything?
Annette:He paused for a second and then said, Okay, back to business.
Brooke:I love him so much. Are you certain we can't negotiate a sister-wife agreement?
Annette:We are reserving a room for you in the new house, but I don't see any polyamory in our future.
Annette:Not unless Jackson is down at the station, rethinking his life choices on account of the noise violations from my downstairs.
Brooke:What was his expression? Did he look shocked or concerned or amused? He couldn't have been that mortified since he kept going.
Annette:I couldn't see his expression.
Brooke:Ah. All right.
Brooke:Well, so what? It was a queef. A super loud one. Given that you two live together, I'm sure there are other unpleasant things he's witnessed.
Annette:It's easier to keep up the charade than you might think.
Brooke:There's one bathroom at your place. There's no room for charades when you share a bathroom.
Annette:You're forgetting that my shop is a three-minute walk from the house and there's a perfectly private bathroom there.
Brooke:Oh my god, Annette. You're leading a double life. You can't marry this man if you've led him to believe you don't poop. It's deceptive and wrong. I won't let it happen.
Annette:It's irrelevant because I'm dead.
Brooke:You're not dead. You just don't like living through a moment where Jackson thinks you're anything but a delicate little lady who doesn't poop.
