Ssssomebody stop me. No, really. Please. Stop me.

Somewhere inside me, the female version of this guy lives:

Our dog, Adam is a real sissy. He’s almost a year old and still doesn’t lift his leg to pee. He’s a darling, of course, but he’s not macho. In other words, figuratively speaking, he has no balls. Because Mother Nature is a comedian, that is only true in a figurative sense. In the literal sense, Adam has ginormous balls. If those were figurative rather than literal, he would be the dog version of Chuck Norris.

Today, I took Adam with me when I went to the library, where he waited outside (tied of course) while I went in to drop off our books. When I came out, a couple of teen girls asked if they could pet him. He has that kind of face, you just want to hug him. So of course I said yes, they petted Adam, he nearly had conniptions of joy over the attention, and I told them his name.

“Oh my God, that is uncanny,” said one of the girls. “Did you hear that? His name is Adam.”

“Wow.”

I was curious, as you would be. “Why is his name so significant?”

“There’s this boy I like, and his name is Adam. We were just talking about him.”

“Ah,” I said. “Well, if your Adam is anything like mine, he’s a very nice chap.” Then that creature I referred to up there, the female version of Stanley Ipkiss’ mask alter ego, popped out, and added: “…with really big balls.”

Like I said. Please. Somebody. Stop me.

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