Something about my setting right now (bedroom, 9:45 pm, humidifier and glasses on) made me think of the genius Flight of the Conchords song "Business Time." So, with apologies to Bret and Jemaine as well as to Jeff, I give you a slightly altered version. (For the hilarious original, scroll down.)
That's right, baby.
Boy, tonight we're gonna make love. You know how I know, baby? 'Cause I've got the humidifier on. Oooh, yeah. And I'm wearing my glasses and my Christmas pajamas, the ones with the unidentifiable food detritus on the buttons, even though it's after New Year's. Conditions are perfect. I'm finished watching the latest episode of Jersey Shore on my laptop. You're taking a break from scanning negatives. You lean in close and say something sexy like, "I don't think that meatloaf you made for dinner agreed with me." I know what you're trying to say baby. You're trying to say, "Oh, yeah. It's business time."
Next thing you know I'm frantically trying to rub the acne medication off of my chin so that if you kiss me there you won't recoil in horror, spitting, while you go outside to smoke a cigarette. That's all part of it, that's foreplay. Then you come in and tell me that the neighbors have left their baby's used diapers in the hallway again. That's not part of the foreplay but it's good to know. Then you come into the bedroom. You're wearing your favorite hoodie, the one with the bleach stains from when I used it as a towel to wipe off my Oil-Free Acne Wash that time we ran out of towels. Oh, yeah.
I remove my glasses and you unzip your hoodie, tripping over the humidifier and spilling water all over the floor, but you turn it into a sexy dance. Next thing you know I'm wiping cookie crumbs off of the sheets, and when I'm wiping cookie crumbs off the sheets you know what time it is: it's time for business. It's business time.