A couple of months ago I talked about how The Prince has a small cyst on his back- it’s perfectly harmless, blah blah blah. I named the cyst, of course, and was a total shithead about it. Its name is Cystily. You can read all about it here.
Go read that post. I’m not kidding around. If you don’t read it, the rest of what I’m about to say is going to make a whooshing sound as it goes right over your pretty little head. Or maybe not, I’m just fucking with you. I tell lies sometimes.
ANYWAY, last night after eating awesome 7-layer vegetarian burritos and watching A Bug’s Life, The Prince cuddled up to me on the couch. I rubbed his back a little in an attempt to be what some people might call a good girlfriend. It was then that my fingers felt my old friend Cystily.
AND CYSTILY SEEMED TO BE BIGGER.
Me: “Sweetie? I think Cystily is growing.”
The Prince: “Shhh. No he’s not.”
Me: “No really, remember how I used to sing “He’s Cystily and he’s the size of a pea”? Well, now he’s about the size of a LOONIE.”
The Prince: “You are so full of it. The tumor is not any bigger; you just haven’t touched it in a while.”
Me: “Hey! You can’t call him “the tumor” when he’s RIGHT HERE. Cystilty really doesn’t like that derogatory term. He thinks it’s rude, and frankly I have to agree.”
The Prince: “I’m going to bed.”
Once we were both in bed, I made a new suggestion:
Me: “Really though, *reaches over, feels cyst* don’t you think this new growth should be noted? I mean, maybe it’s a sign. Or maybe it’s your long lost twin, or maybe…”
The Prince: “GO TO SLEEP, KITTEN.”
Me: “That wasn’t very nice. I’m talking about your HEALTH….. WAIT. WAIT WAIT WAIT. I’ve got it. What IF…”
The Prince: “This better be good. I’m THISCLOSE to shoving you onto the floor. And you know what? I won’t even throw your pillow down after you.”
Me: “MAYBE YOUR CYST IS YOUR SOUL.”
The Prince: “…What? You’re effed. Go to sleep. Now.”
Me: “NO NO NO, LISTEN. JUST LISTEN. You know, because gingers apparently don’t have souls, but you’re such a nice guy that your soul is growing as a cyst! It’s like flying under the radar- your cyst is a secret soul. Amazing.”
The Prince: “How much vodka did you put in that juice, exactly?”
Me: “I don’t remember. Doesn’t matter, either. You have a SECRET CYST SOUL, ginger kid.”