“Nice jugs,” you say smugly to the attractive woman holding two half-gallons of milk in the grocery store. You use your thumb and forefinger to smooth out your greasy moustache, then pretend to adjust your “Place Forehead Here” belt buckle in order to draw attention to it.
The woman, Andrea, is not good with double entendres. She believes you are talking about her milk jugs and not her breasts. Andrea believes she has finally found a man that appreciates dairy the way she does and falls madly in love with you on the spot.
Initially you are confused by the ensuing conversation on milk, but you’ve never gotten this far with a woman without being slapped and decide to play along. Because you are an idiot, “playing along” consists of the occasional “Me Too!” and a great deal of vigorous nodding.
Andrea mistakes your pliant non-personality for a kindred spirit and agrees to go out to dinner with you.
Throughout your courting of her, Andrea is reluctant to have sex, saying she wants to save herself for marriage. Again, you’ve never gotten this far, so you decide to let it play out.
After several dates, each consisting of a different themed mud-wrestling night at the same bar, you ask Andrea to marry you. Seeing the five-cent plastic spider ring you hold up to her, she cries yes with tears in her eyes. The two dwarves mud-wrestling in the center of the room clap, spraying mud everywhere.
“Drinks are on me!” you shout loudly, eliciting a cheer from the bar patrons. You and Andrea leave five minutes later without paying your tab.
On your wedding night, you are lying in bed while Andrea prepares for the consummation in the next room
A strange thought enters your mind regarding the day you first met.
“Hey, babe?” you call out to Andrea. “On the day we met, why’d you buy two half-gallons of milk instead of one full gallon?”
Andrea comes into the bedroom wearing a full cow costume carrying a half-gallon of milk.
“I didn’t want to get shit on the milk jug I drink from,” she says coldly.
Your anus clenches, but not hard enough.