I saw a tweet today that gave me a horrific flashback:
@som1cool: What’s the difference between parsley and pussy? ….Nobody eats parsley.
The joke still makes me blush, not to mention the memory of the first time I heard it.
Picture it: I’m in college. My mother (without my father for some reason I can’t recall) came to visit, bringing my cousin and her husband with her. To put this in context, my cousin is eight years older than me so let’s say she was 27 or 28 at the time.
The three of them plus a college friend of mine went to dinner. The seating configuration matters for this story so I made you a helpful diagram.
The cousin at dinner has a notorious pottymouth and is known for her fondness for dirty jokes. I was – and am still – a prude around my parents, something my various cousins have known and exploited since I was about twelve years old.
Showing off for her still-relatively-new husband, my cousin jumped right in.
What’s the difference between parsley and pussy?
Cringing. Twitching. Squirming. Pleading with my eyes and my words.
“NOOOOOOO. Please stop. Please.”
Furtive look to see if my mother is paying attention. No. She’s talking to my friend about something. College. Boys. Sororities and Fraternities. The weather. Anything. I DON’T CARE.
“Nobody eats parsley!” exclaims my cousin triumphantly.
“Oh, David eats it all the time!”
And then I died. Or crawled under the table or both. I would tell you which, but I have blocked the outcome from my conscious mind.