War of the Words, Part the Third

So Gary and I were out biking the other day.

“Ow” I said.
A few blocks later I said, “Ow.”
The third time I “ow”ed, he said, heartlessly, “What is wrong with you?”

“It was a little too soon after a termite inspection to hop on a bike. The seat is hurting my pudenda.”

Okay, I know this word, and not as Mom suggested because of the “naughty” things I read. I think it’s from having many bladder infections. At any rate, it sparked another Word War.

“Pudenda?” he mocked, “That has to be wrong.”
“I assure you, it is not wrong. I know my pudenda.”
“There is no such word.”
“Do you have a pudenda? No? Then shut up.” I knew I had him this time.
“I have never heard that word.”
“Really?” I said cooly. “Then bet me.”

And we finally biked home, looked it up, and I was gloriously victorious and he was shamed as a man who is unfamiliar with the pudenda. Victory at Last!