In a not atypical evening, the wandering husband texted me to say he’d be taking the long way home (via music stores. le shock.)
I texted back with the wise suggestion that he take the long way home, with a pitstop in the township of roti. Population: us.
He concurred, and asked what I wanted. I said I didn’t care, so long as it involved meat.
He said his phone was running out of juice, and in the last gasps of his battery we said an overly dramatic farewell. “I’ll keep you in my heart always!” “I loooooooove youuuuu….*click*”.
When he took what my Hunger decided was too long (about 20 minutes), I followed up with a “FEED ME!” text. (<-helpful) He arrived home to find me sprawled in fake-corpse mode on the bed (I had died from hunger, obvs.) It was double strength fake looking, since I'd been standing by the front door when his key turned in the lock and I had to boot it down the hall to get in position.
“Nice top”, says he.
“Thanks”, mumble I into the sheets. (Tonight, I died belly-side down). I then suggested I was probably still alive enough for mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
We ate rotis while watching an episode of Babylon 5 (this one starred Grima Wormtongue — what is up with the guest actors on that show…). At the end of the episode, Captain Stingypants decided not to dole out another one. “I still need to get some work done” says he. “I don’t care about what you need!” says I. (<-class) He then asked where I had put his socks. Or, more specifically, he said "King of Socks, what did you do with the socks?" He used my full title as I have taken to, on finding orphan articles of his clothing on the floor, putting them on my head and declaring myself the King of them. See also: "I am the King of Socks." "I am the King of Tshirts." And so on. (He'd watched the coronation vis-a-vis these particular socks shortly before the B5 credits). I informed him that I had put his socks in the hamper, as well as thanking him for using my full title (he also called me "majesty"). He then suggested that "you could come work on the floor of my office." (Me: "Um... thanks?") "If you're quick. Kitty might beat you to it." (She did, but I pulled the ol' nip toy bait'n'switch. Sucker. Every time.) En route to my floor office, we ended up in something couples with more "spacious" houses miss out on: a full-body hallway wrestling doorjam-bracing-knee-hooking-waistband-grabbin' tussle to see who gets to use the bathroom first (answer: me). Then I made him tea. Because I love him. The end.
You write well. And you have a nice life. You are, I think, a happy person. Me too.