If he were going to sing a Beatles song it’d probably be “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” which would get him kicked out of bed.

Well it’s not “Hey you!” like he’s trying to get my attention. It’s more like “Hey, you” as in hey, you person that I like.

You know of all the gluten-free versions of things, tamari might be the one that tastes better than the gluten-y version. If I’d only known soy sauce could taste like more than liquid salt!

A nurse might try pushing back to slow delivery down a bit so that you don’t tear, but that is clearly not what happened here. Not for SIX MINUTES

Drills. They just don’t work when you’re facing someone who has their sword on the same side. So for practicing specific moves and not actual bouts he always wanted me to switch so that it’d actually work. I refused, because I was a 20-year-old asshole and it was pretty much my only advantage.

Not every time, but yeah. He does. I think it’s his way of saying “you were great, babe.” Or at least it better be. ;)

My husband does it. And he’s been fucking me for 13 years now.

I took both theatrical fencing and beginning fencing at the same time and boy, was that a mistake. They’re total opposites. Real fencing being mostly tiny movements of the tip of your sword and staying out of the way the rest of the time. And then I’d go to the Theatrical class and we’d be making these huge sweeping…

They caused me so much neck pain. Those fuckers are heavy, and I was tiny.

Mr. Bells’ are usually on his fingers, his elbows, knees, and if it’s really bad, his butt. It hits the hands first for some reason. The other possible treatment, besides going gluten-free, is leprosy drugs that kill your liver. Fun times!

I mean you get to play with swords. It’s a blast. Outfits are hot and uncomfortable, though.

I had fiberglass boob-cups that inserted into my jacket. But guys were very reluctant to actually aim there, so I took most of the hits just above the cups and the bruise was excruciating. I took to banging my chest Tarzan-style to show them I was protected and they could hit my chest.

I also took theatrical fencing in college, because I’m a theater geek. We had the same instructor as for actual fencing. He was always trying to get me to fence right-handed in Real Fencing, so most of my theatrical bouts involved versions of “I am not really left-handed!” in a terrible Spanish accent.

Celiac is an autoimmune disorder, like Hashimoto’s. When you get one autoimmune issue, sometimes you get others! It’s like the shittiest lottery ever.

An uncommon side effect of celiac disease is dermatitis herpetiformis - which my husband has, and it’s a lot like that eczema. Itchy blisters that pop out anywhere from 1-5 days after he gets “glutened”. It’s actually how we ended up getting him diagnosed. By a dermatologist.

The number of times Mr. Bells has brought home something from the store that has NO REASON to contain gluten but does anyway is ridiculous. Tortilla chips. French fries. Soup. Seasoning salt. MOTHERFUCKING SOY SAUCE.

My husband has celiac disease, and when he asks for a gluten-free menu in restaurants the server will invariably hand it to me. It’s like we assume it’s a women’s thing, but also that it’s bullshit.

Yeah, like other people said, it depends. Some of the practice drills were impossible when you’re both holding the weapon on the same side. But right-handed people who didn’t regularly fence lefties got really confused. As long as I was really defensive, opponents had real trouble getting hits on me.

Yeah, I wasn’t really skilled, but as long as I stuck to defensive tactics, no one could hit me.

I fenced in college. I was actually decent at it by virtue of A) somehow being the only lefty, and B) weighing 100lbs soaking wet. If I inhaled I could practically hide behind the foil.