(this went something like...today I received The Company Store catalog
Him: midsex Nah. I'm just not that interested. Are you tired?
Me: annoyed. am ovulating. supposed to procreate, his choice moreso then mine "Why do I always have to bring my 'A' game? Can't you be interested anyway???? I mean it's like pizza at a hockey rink. So it's not the best pizza but it's still food. I mean, unless your getting it somewhere else this is the only sex your getting so even if it's not that great you could still act interested..."
Him: sighing, eyes rolling "Right...
A feat unto itself, by the way, as I am on every "Do Not Direct Mail" list ever.
and I see the Holy Grail of Christmas gifts.
My must have.
My gimme gimme.
Which, of course, I run to price at Landsend.com and check to see if they have it in my sisters colors and size too. Ah, what could be nicer. The gift of softness, and with a hood too, in 6 "luscious" colors. Or is it colours when they are called "baked apple" and "otter"? I love it.
I need it.
I must have it.
I start to build a weekend around it. I picture cozy night in, watching tv. Maybe some fuzzy socks, my knitting, some tea. Cuddling with Ellie.
Then I saw it.
In the far right corner.
And I realized "It's Not All Your Fault, Husband"
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2 comments:
My go-to sleepwear? A matching set of cotton PJs I bought at the Big Y grocery store in Newtown.
I'm too sexy for this party.
The fun of something like this is the pleasure I get in taking it off, tossing it to the side, and letting the rumpus ensue.
Colonel Slade's words come to mind . . . "There's FIRE under that!"
Go for it!
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