Risk Of Verbal Poop

(My boyfriend and I are on vacation. We decide to find a restaurant to eat out at instead of making something back at the beach house.)

Me: *driving the car as we decide on a place to eat* “I could go for some pasta, what do you think?”

Boyfriend: “Sure. You said that place we went to on your last trip had some of the best fettuccine you’ve ever tasted.”

Me: “It was, but it was so rich it didn’t sit well. We only got to see half of Ripley’s museum because of it.”

Boyfriend: “We’re going right back to the beach house after we eat, so that makes it less of a problem.”

Me: “I’m not sure I want to be running to the bathroom all the time. Kind of takes away from enjoying our together time tonight.”

Boyfriend: “I think there’s another restaurant up this way that has good reviews. I don’t know what they serve though. I’m sure we can check the menu before getting a table.”

Me: “Hopefully if they do have fettuccine, it won’t be the type that leaves me in the bathroom.”

Boyfriend: “Don’t want to have any poop-uccine.”

Me: “It’s… wait… Did you just say…”

Boyfriend: “Poop-uccine? Yeah.”

Me: *fighting back a giggle* “No, I don’t think I want any poop-uccine.”

Boyfriend: “Then let’s find some non poop-uccine!”

Me: *now laughing* “Poop-uccine is a terrible thing!”

Boyfriend: “Poop-uccine!”

Me: “Poop-uccine!”

Boyfriend: “Poop-uccine, poop-uccine, poop-uccine!”

(We go back and forth like this laughing hysterically for a good fifteen minutes before finally going into a restaurant. In the lobby, we look at the menus to see what they have. My boyfriend points to fettuccine on the menu.)

Boyfriend: “I’ll be back in a moment.”

(He retreats to the restroom as I get a table.)

Waiter: “Do you know what you’d like to order?”

Boyfriend: “I’ll take a root beer and a fettuccine alfredo.”

(The waiter departs.)

Boyfriend: “I went to the bathroom to say fettuccine over and over until I was absolutely sure it was what I would say.”