Guys, my house has a sex dungeon.
Adam says I have to stop calling it that because technically, since it’s not underground, it’s a sex attic, if anything.
Y’all, never before has this man quibbled about semantics but mistakenly call something a sex dungeon instead of a sex attic and suddenly he’s all up in your face brandishing his Funk and Wagnalls.
Ok I’m going to back up a few steps, yes?
I was finishing up work this evening, when Adam texted me the following picture:
Are you confused? I was confused.
It’s a room. A fairly ordinary one. Yes it does have a questionable colour scheme and atrocious paint job, but I didn’t understand what was so important about this particular hideous room to warrant sharing it with someone, so I called him.
The conversation was infuriating, featuring his trademark style of repeating a statement several times despite the fact that you have asked for clarification precisely because you do not understand the original statement, ADAM.
I have condensed it because no one else should have to suffer like this.
Me: Hey, I got the picture, what is it?
Adam: I’ve solved all of our Christmas problems!
Me: What? What problems?
Adam: Of where to put your family!
Me: Oh, okay how?
Adam: Look at the picture.
Me: I’m looking at the picture, whose room is this?
Adam: Look at the carpet!
Me: I’m looking at the carpet!
Adam: LOOK at it!
Me: I AM LOOKING AT THE PICTURE AND THE ROOM AND THE CARPET WHERE IS THIS PLACE
Adam: It’s a room in our house!
Me: What the hell are you talking about?
Is this where I mention that our house is small? Tiny in fact. So tiny that it doesn’t even have a place for a table and chairs. There are 6 rooms total, including the bathroom and all are used on a daily basis.
It’s highly unlikely that in the full year that we’ve lived here I would have missed an entire ROOM.
Adam: Maddie (talking slowly, like he’s addressing a complete moron) It’s. A. Room. In. Our. House!
Me: OH MY GOD, ADAM, You are not making any sense can you please start making some sense, PLEASE!
Adam: It’s in the attic.
Me: What? What?! What are you doing crawling around in the attic?
Adam: I do lots of fun stuff when you’re not home.
And then he sent me more pictures. It looked big, and Adam told me he could stand up in it and then my brain exploded because as I said, our house is tiny, and tiny, oh and ONE STORY high.
When I got home there was a giant ladder in my hallway leading into the ceiling, and though (typical man that he is) he greatly exaggerated the size of the room, LO, there is indeed a room in my attic.
Guys, what on earth could this room have ever, possibly been used for except a sex dungeon, right? There is a creepy little door, it’s the only part of the attic that’s drywalled and finished, there are strange, faint blood-like spatters on the carpet and OH MY GOD someone seriously died in here.
Immediately I knew I had to blog about this - how many bloggers do you know with a sex dungeon in their homes? Guys, this could be my BIG BREAK! And, in my excitement over discovering this fresh source of material, I forgot who I was married to. In the two seconds it took to get my phone out of my pocket Adam had scurried past me, shut the door, escaped the sex attic and removed the ladder from the trap door in the ceiling.
Honestly for a brief moment after I heard the door slam and the metal legs of the ladder scraping against the kitchen floor I thought “Oh mein gott did he BUILD this!?”, and then I remembered that Adam has neither the carpentry skill nor the attention span to construct a sex dungeon of this caliber. A sex shed maybe. But nothing with carpeting and trim and a faux-marble sponge paint job.
Guys, if you ever want to see a hippie lose her damn mind, strand her in a newly discovered sex dungeon where someone has probably died. Oh goddess the VIBES of the place! The negative energy!
Only after threatening to smudge the place did Adam finally replace the ladder and let me come down. (Strangely, similar threats to call the police had little to no effect. Apparently dude has a serious problem with either Aboriginal purification rituals or the smell of burnt sage.)
So. I probably shouldn’t have written all of that sex dungeon stuff, because now I’ve ruined Adam’s grand plan, his way of solving “all of our Christmas problems”, which was that some of my family would sleep up here. HERE, in this tiny, unventilated, 5x6 room which is accessible only by a ladder set up in the middle of our hallway.
I think we can all agree that there’s only one question left to be asked about this whole situation: Somerville Family- who wants dibs on the dungeon?
Whee! Ah jes love ma new sex