As I have mentioned, over here a wordpress.com, you can see which search terms people enter to get to your blog, and which blogs refer readers your way. Last night I got an email that someone had listed my blog on her site — I believe the kids call it “ping back.” I went to the site in question — Did a fellow Mommy Blogger fan put me on her blogroll? Did I make it onto a list of funniest people in Seattle? (which is about as competitive as getting on a list of fat people in L.A.)
No. Someone chronicling her adventures in (ahem) bondage decided to write about getting her period (who know that was kinky? certainly nobody in this house.) and she posted my link: Boogers and PMS
The post was about my four year old’s moods, but I can only suppose this blogger was casting a rather wide net. Of course I looked at her dirty little site. Then I looked at some of the smutty links she had on her blogroll. And then for a few minutes I did some heavy duty judging, which is remarkably easy when you are a Victorian, as I am.
And then, right in the middle of reading some dreadful stuff by some guy who referred to himself as “Daddy” (eeew), I realized that this was probably something of my doing. You can’t write about vagina necklaces and not expect the dirty people to find you.
Which brings me my latest genital riff:
M is the baker in this house. While I like to cook, I do not enjoy baking, and am not especially good at it. Especially bread. (I like to make a big performance out of my inability, and march around my little kitchen announcing that bakers are predictable, dull, and lack a certain joie de whatever, telling M that he’s so very lucky to have married me instead, what with my flexibility (mind out of the gutter, porn friends who have found me by accident) as well as my unbridled spontaneity. But really we both know that I’m just restless, sloppy, don’t like to follow directions, and have the attention span of a toddler.
Therefore, if we want freshly baked challah each week, M bakes it. (Challah, is a Jewish braided bread.) For some reason I do not fully understand, the week after Passover we bake something called “Shlissel (key) challah.” Some people actually bake a key into their challah, others shape challah into keys.
M chose the latter. But God love him, he doubles every recipe he comes across (you never know when angry Cossacks will come banging down your door and if you have to leave the shtetl in a hurry, it’s good to have three tons of freshly baked bread), and his oversized creations were shoved, rather inartfully, onto a baking sheet. He shaped them, and I put them in the oven later in the day. When he came home from work, he asked:
“Well, do my shlissel challah look realistic?”
To which I replied, “Well, I suppose if shlissel were Yiddish for giant, doughy, penis, then yes! Bravo!”
I cannot print his response, but I’m sure he still feels very bad about it. I can say looking back on this, and considering my decision to write about it, that I can’t be shocked at all that I have now have porno street cred. I may like to read Victorian detective novels for cheap fun, I prefer my romances to be Edwardian, but I may not be as clean as I thought I was.
As for M…. Reader, I married him. And he may not get all my jokes, but he bakes the best damn doughy penis challah in the Pacific Northwest.