When J. J. Dufresne is drunk, stoned, or bored, he likes to make butt-chins.
The first time he did it to me, he was drunk. He came up and stood very close to me, violated all sorts of my personal space, and pinched the sides of my chin together. He laughed.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"You've got a butt-chin," he said. "Ha-ha."
I didn't understand what he was doing. It just felt like he was pinching me, like he was trying to help pop a particularly troublesome zit.
"Ouch," I said. "What are you doing?"
"Butt-chin! Butt-chin!" he chanted. Then he reached over with his other hand and made a tiny indentation in the pinched-together skin of my chin. "You have a butt for a chin!"
1 comment:
Your blog is my new favorite. I'm so intrigued! And what a name! Could you ask for a better name for your muse? I don't think so.
Congrats. Keep it up.
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