Horny in Australian

Love Letter Day 24.

Since we’re supposed to spend time with family tomorrow I wanted to tell you how inordinately horny I’ve been this week. I encourage anyone going into tense family gathering situations to think of everyone at the dinner table being horny. I know it sounds rude, but horniness is a pretty good equalizer. Everyone benefits from being horny, being thought of as capable of wanton lust. And most of us, I think, are capable of titillation, or at least, I hope anyone who wants it can be titillated.

I never use enough Ls when spelling titillation. There is one more L than I remember, which I think is lovely. L is the horniest letter in the alphabet. The more Ls the better.

A few Thanksgivings ago, we visited in-laws, and I found my stodgy, traditionalist, analytical father-in-law’s single dirty magazine (a special issue of Playboy dedicated to “BOOBS”) in the guest room of their house. My husband was mortified by my discovery but I was so delighted. Who doesn’t benefit from a positive sexual persona?

I miss Shannon Michael Cane. Now there was someone who loved being horny. He told me a funny story about the word “root” in Australia being their version of “horny.” Both words derive from the language of flora, which I also find so lovely. Shannon explained to me in vain how to use root in a sentence, and I kept screwing it up, which made him laugh. I wanna root you. You root me.

How do you talk about being titillated, I wonder. I could be your linguist, if you wanted. I’d begin by labeling the prosody of my desire, syllable, to syllable, to syllable, to syllable.