Complicated (Alex Gaskarth)

Bite Me

Elizabeth's Italian side might be showing a bit too much.

Inspired by this picture. Credit to owner.

With the way I find him in the kitchen, on this Saturday morning, stretched lengthwise across two bar stools and the way he stares at me in dissatisfaction, evident by his pursed lips and judgmental eyes, I know exactly what he's asking of me.

To give the meaning of that swear word I pronounced a while back while being stressed with a deadline for work.

The signature Italian word that, according to a reprimanding email sent by daycare to both Alex and myself, my three-year-old overheard and repeated at daycare with glee.

The word that, in this moment, and in any really, I am in no mood to answer.

Because that would just mean ammunition for him to never let me live this more than embarrassing moment down.

Yet, as his nature, he's persistent.

"What does it mean, Elizabeth?"

From my position across him, I refuse to respond to his question, choosing instead to focus my gaze on the floor titles, an attempt to hide my humiliation.

"I won't ask again, Elizabeth." His tone is stern, "What does caso mean?"

At his poor use of the word, my flushed cheeks are suddenly gone, replaced instead by genuine chuckles and a smile. How serious can his reprimanding be if the word isn't even interpreted, right?

"I think you mean cazzo, Lex."

"Well, however it's said." He sighs in frustration, "I want to know what it means."

"I don't think you do."

"Oh," he insists, "I do."

"No, you really don't."

"And how is that fair?" he challenges next, "Because if you're going to speak French or Italian to our kids, then I at least want to know the basics. You know, before you all outnumber or gang up on me."

"When have I ever ganged up on you?" I smile, "Besides, maybe this is a good opportunity for you to take on my offer to teach you French."

He stares back at me, his expression deadpan.

"Um, no. Because then you'll just do it on purpose to teach me super complicated expressions that you know I won't remember. That, or you'll tease me for not getting the whatever pronunciation or verb tenses right."

Instantly proud of the effect my teasing has on him, I decide to push it further, by choosing to not respond to his rant, but rather offer him what he's been asking all along, that is, the definition to the swear word.

"Penis."

Just as I hoped, his reaction is exactly what I expected, if not better.

"Penis?" he echoes in confusion, his eyebrows furrowing as he nearly falls off the chair, "What the hell does that have to do with anything, Elizabeth?"

"You asked what cazzo meant. It literally translates to penis." I explain, then add slyly, "You know, like that thing between your legs."

At this, his expression turns mischievous, our daughter's actions apparently no longer a major concern, judging by the way his words send shivers down my spine.

"Pretty well acquainted with it, aren't you, Liz?"

"Oh bite me, Gaskarth."

Jumping at my threat, he's instantly maneuvering himself out of the chairs to frame my body against his, while his hand cradles my soon-to-be swollen stomach, a fact we discovered a mere days ago, as his hot breath whispers in my ear.

"Oh I will, Delfino. Just like I did eight years ago."