Back in early 2012, The Wife and I were watching a movie in our living room. I can’t remember now, but it was probably a chick flick like Sex and the City 2 or Eat Pray Love — something my wife forced me to add to my Netflix queue, forever sullying its masculine streak of pure, testicle-powered entertainment. (Wait, that sounded like gay porn, didn’t it.)
So, sometime during the second half of the movie, I stood up to get a glass of water from the kitchen, swatted my wife’s thigh and asked, “Would you like anything while I’m up?”
She replied calmly, without turning her gaze from the TV screen.
THE WIFE: “Please don’t slap my fat meat.”
Click here to learn more about the term “Denglish.”
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