Dear God, this is funny.

more:

The competition, the women told them, was simple and straightforward. They would split into two teams: Wes and Fred, Olivia and Rupert. Each of the women had been handed a Wolfram & Hart Titanium card, and a set of walkie talkies.

The object of the exercise was shopping. Each Watcher was to have from now until the Center locked up for the night, with his Shopping Buddy and the W&H Titanium card in hand. They were to meet back at the cars at closing time. The Watchers would be judged on the quantity, value and cost of their purchases; while their Shopping Buddies were there to point them down particular purchasing paths, each Watcher would be expected to explain each purchase to the appointed Judges, why they had bought it, why they had wanted it. Was this clear?

"What are the walkie talkies for?" Rupert was extremely uneasy; there was something about that charm bracelet that was nervous-making.

The two-ways, Fred explained, were in case they got separated from their buddies. Besides, you, well, you just never knew, and two-ways were handy things, after all, right?

"Fine. By the way - what's the prize?" Wes, accepting that he would not only have to go ahead with this idiocy but also deal with Fred in her most manic mood, asked the question. "For winning? You threatened us with the torments of chastity and making us pong like gone-over horsemeat patties if we don't play, but you haven't told us what the winner gets."

The women smiled at him, but said nothing. Fred kept fingering an odd ring she'd found in the envelope with the rest of the goodies. Something about that ring was making Wesley's gob do nasty little dances. his lips kept wanting to do things, lick her or purse in disapproval or maybe just pucker up and yell for help. Something had seemed to slide over her skin after she'd popped the thing on...

"We're off." Olivia jerked her head towards the escalator. "May the best Watcher win."

"Win what, again?"

• * *

Something about that ring was making Wesley's gob do nasty little dances.

Gob means spit, his spit was dancing?

Gob's mouth, isn't it?

Mouth. His mouth is jerking around.

Is that not visual? Damn. Gimme a minute.

OK - enhanced that a bit. It's important, actually, because it's related to the ring's, er, function.

Really? Gob means mouth? Huh... In Canada if you gob on someone you've spit on them.

But, really, shut your gob and gobsmacked now make more sense.

Elena, gobbing has the same meaning in the UK, where I think the slang originated (we need Fay). But it's pursing your lips and expelling with them to spit out a lump (ewewew), so the action - using your mouth to spit - is gobbing.

Interesting... Good to know.

Warning, the next bit or a portion of it is likely to get rather porny.