Ducky has a neck pillow for the car. It’s a lion. He named it ASSMAN. I have no idea where he got this idea, but he’s dead serious about the name. I can’t even say the F word. I’m not talking about “Fuck”. I say that all the time. I actually like that word. It’s the F word that has to do with passing gas. I have the same feelings about ASSMAN.
I remember a Seinfeld episode about a proctologist that had ASSMAN on his license plate and on his yacht. I couldn’t even say the name when I saw the episode. I’m sure I blushed a little when I first saw it. I covered my mouth when I laughed about it. I don’t recall Ducky watching Seinfeld. Although, that would not surprise me one bit. He watches Family Guy as if his life depends on it. Only he calls it Peter Griffin. He idolizes Peter Griffin. “Mom, be quiet, it’s Peter Griffin.” Should I be worried?
Peter Griffin is the sexy piece in the middle.
Needless to say, in the beginning, I would not accept the lion’s name. I just couldn’t. However, Ducky and his lion have a need for acceptance. Ducky got on his knees and begged me to say it, “Just say it once, Mom. Say. Him name. Is ASSMAN.” Just look at the face I’m dealing with….
So I folded, “His name is….. is…….is ASSMAN.” The anxiety built up at first, but then I just blurted out the name as quick as I could. I have to admit, it felt good to finally let it all out. I’m free. It’s not the word. It’s just a word. Like “fuck”. It was me all along. I’m the crazy one here. Not Seinfeld or Peter Griffin or Ducky. Me.
Not only can I say ASSMAN, but I am Ducky’s hero for the day. He smiled so big and let out a deep breath and I could feel the pride radiating from him. Big things are going on here. I feel good.
Now my only worry is that the next stuffed animal will be named the F word. I am still so uncomfortable with that word that I can’t even type it. Maybe if only to soak up the appreciation of Ducky’s pride. I’ll do it.