Cock-Eyed Clichés

My ex-husband Dick called his badboy a dick. Did he think of it as a mini-me? Or was this meant to preempt jokes about his name?

We met sitting next to each other in the front row at one of those personal growth workshops where you're supposed to admit you're shit and always have been. We'd been there nine hours. I was desperate to leave, when the workshop leader announced a new theme: You're all story-ing. Starting with our row, he glanced one by one at name tags, saying You're Larry Larry-ing... You're Darlene Darlene-ing...

Dick and I made eye contact and grinned, but of course the guy paused and skipped past "Dick Dick-ing," responding to his own story, no doubt.

Most men name their dongs. My pal Art called his King Arthur. Trust me, that was a bit grandiose.

I decided to call my own parts Star. I wish I could say this has a scientific basis—hot, dense, luminous—but I took it from Tarot: "Star, the card of hope."

Then I met Roger, who has an Oscar.

My sex life was becoming a cliché!

Seeking a fresh perspective, I took charge of the naming. Thus, when I laid eyes on a most remarkable member, I christened it The Cobra. You can see it: the wider head when erect, the way it weaves and dances in a Stevie Wonder sort of way, like it's blind and sweet on Motown.