In Which A Bluff Is Called, In the Buff

Posted on
Jun 3, 2021
Rand shirtless in his office

My husband’s Twitter account is a lot more professional than mine, because my husband is a lot more professional than I am. He’s also not really into PDAs, and so it’s pretty easy for me to embarrass him by simply mentioning that *lowers voice* we sometimes do adult things together.

So on a regular basis, I invade my husband’s Twitter mentions and tell him to stop whatever he’s doing and come suck face with me. Lately, he’s been working on instructional videos for his new company. While he’s great on camera (look, he just is! It’s not even me being biased because I think he’s a smokeshow!), actually doing the A/V work is pretty uncharted territory for him, so he gets on Twitter to ask people for advice on how things look, and what he should do differently. A lot of the answers are really helpful and supportive.

I also have things to say.


Anyway, apparently I’ve been doing stuff like this for a while?


Honestly, I’m just kind of a nightmare of a wife.

Anyway, today I did it again.

The thing about Rand is that while he’s pretty good at playing the straight-man in this carnival ride of wedded whimsical fuckery, every now and then I push a little too far and … well … he’ll call me on my bluff.

Touché, Mr. Fishkin. Though I’d like to think we’re all winners here: him, for having that chest, me, for getting to appreciate it on the regular, and the good people of Twitter, who get to see it for the first time.

Now if you’ll excuse me …

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