Ladies and gentlemen, there is no hope for me. I am sitting in my parents’ livingroom, listening to Ma Smash discuss the fact that most people are not as organized as she is. How does she express this? I’m so glad you asked.
“And she can’t find the paperwork! I had the paperwork in that drawer, and now it’s not there. She cleaned all my stuff out, and now it’s all full of her pussy powder or whatever–“
“Excuse me. What? Her what?”
“Her pussy powder! Pussy powder!”
“OK. What the hell is pussy powder?”
“Ah! OK. See, when I was in college, there was this big thing where we were all convinced that we were smelly. So there was this huge market for powders and sprays and deodorants or whatever. I mean, I didn’t use them, because I had a UTI for like 6 years when I was young and was on bactrim and wearing giant cotton undies like a sail. But everyone else was crazy about it. Particularly my roommate.
“So anyway, Barbara and I kept a bottle of raspberry schnapps in the room, for special occasions, like, if it was after exams, or if it was Tuesday. And one day, I had had a little social snort, and her boyfriend — now her husband — called while she was out. And he was all, ‘Well, do you know where she went?’ And I said, ‘I have no idea. She was out like a shot. She just powdered her pussy and went out the door.’
“He loved it so much that years later, when your father and I went to visit them, he said, ‘You know, Barbara was so excited that you were coming that she completely forgot to powder her pussy.'”
Whereupon, my sister asked, “There’s raspberry schnapps?”
And Ma Smash said, “It’s so delicious!”