Friday, July 03, 2015

11:27 PDT



            If you’ve read this blog for a while you know I like my husband. I love him too, of course, but love is more enduring because of the ‘like.’ We made three babies together and adopted two more children. We play together, joke together, and irritate our children regularly with rules and such. We aren’t the immature children we were when we first met. (I was 12 and he was 17.) But we still do immature things because they’re pretty much fun.
            I like the days when he works from home. I get to sneak into his room, pat and caress him, bring him snacks, make him coffee (I do share my coffee …), and make him stop working long enough to chat … and sometimes I get to seduce him. Okay that happens fairly regularly no matter where he’s working. I don’t like many men, but I like my husband. Even on those days when he’s annoyingly irritating. (There must be something grammatically wrong with “annoyingly irritating,” but I can’t put my finger in it.)
            So today everyone scattered. Arpita, being a working girl, is off to the world of high finance. The rest have 1. gone ice skating; or 2. swimming; or 3. to their friend Molly’s house. Knobby Knees is up in his room putting the finishing touches on a project for the State of California, I am in my work room playing with my stamps and avoiding writing. My cousin calls from New York City. Her husband works at the United Nations. He’s okay for a Frenchman. We chat for maybe an hour on her dime. The house is quiet except for the occasional pop of an early firecracker.
            I hear the water run in the upstairs bathroom. KK is either getting a drink of water or doing the necessary. I say bye bye to my cousin. I’ve written about her before somewhere. We’re nearly the same age, weeks apart. We look alike, and when we were young people thought we were twins. Anyway … I close my stamp album and decide to go back to writing. Knobby Knees clumps down the stairs and peeks into my workroom.
            “You busy?” he asks.
            “I’m avoiding work,” I answer.
            He nods, pulls up a chair and sits close to me. He takes my feet onto his lap and massages them. He does that extremely well. It’s an ooo and ahh kinda thing. You probably don’t need all the details between this and the last bit. All sorts of interesting things occur in the middle. The end is a toe curling moment. Pretty much exactly like this:

 Now you KNOW I can't post the entire picture on a PG blog.

2 comments:

Harry H said...

Starting the fireworks early this year... Hmmm?

Anthony said...

Mmmmmmm stocking feet mmmmmmmm.