Boy and I visited with a friend this weekend on the peninsula. And he nonchalantly threw out the word “perineum” in conversation. (No, really, I don’t recall what we were talking about. But it’s boy, he easily throws these words in without a second glance from the casual listener.) I heard him use it and my automatic response is to whisper to myself “perineum, not perennial, not perennial, they’re separate things” and then I inevitably use the word perineum in relation to this lovely ficus I bought at the nursery last week. Our friend asked “what’s perineum?” And I looked at boy wide-eyed, not sure how to explain this one without coming across like a crass potty-mouthed trashy girl. And without a pause in cadence he threw out this definition:
“You know that strip of land between your dirty bits and your naughty bits? Perineum.”
And wouldn’t you guess that the way he balanced the situation, bringing up the word and then backing it up with such an eloquent definition, that’s why I find him attractive.