Rich: Stop looking at my nubbin.
Me: I wasn’t looking at it. You are so paranoid.
Rich: You always look at it. It grosses you out.
Me: I was looking at your appendix scar.
Rich (hiding his third nipple by covering it with his hand and walking away — behind the curtain that separates our kitchen from our laundry room to grab a clean shirt — because the clean shirts are typically wadded in a laundry basket and rarely folded in the closet): Shhh. There’s nubbin to look at here.
Heehee, get it? Instead of saying, ‘There’s nothing to look at here,’ he said, ‘nubbin to look at here.’ It’s punny.