Every year, I try to sit down and reevaluate my life. I write down my thoughts on my work, family, friends, and love life.
About two years ago, as an exercise for Doc, I wrote a story about meeting my husband, whoever he ends up being. This year I wrote a story for myself about how I imagine our life being…
“Come on. It’s your turn.”
I wake up groggy and cranky, as usual, from the kiss on my cheek and a wisp of hair being tucked behind my ear.
“I don’t wanna.”
“I know love, but you are the one who wanted to adopt a dog with a bladder the size of pea. Besides, your morning runs with him have made your ass look even more delicious lately.”
“Flattery, is it? You really think flattery will get me out of this bed on a rainy Sunday morning?”
“That, and I lead you by two thousands steps and counting.”
“That’s my wife, always in it to win it. Come here, I’ll even give that fine ass a smack to start your day.”
I reluctantly shrug off the comforter and emerge from the bed stumbling.
“With your stanky before-the-bathroom breath?”
“Shut up. You love my stanky ass breath.”
I circle my arms around his neck and kiss him. He smells of sweat from his morning jog and coffee with flavored creamer. His sting laid on my ass is the pleasant way I like to start my day.
“Two in front of the TV and one is doing homework.”
“Did she wait until the last moment on another paper?”
“Nope; SATs are in two weeks.”
“Fuck, I love having smart children. Okay, me and bean bladder will be back in an hour. Can you make breakfast, please oh please?”
“Do we have…”
“Eggs and bacon are on the middle shelf in the fridge, fruits’ in the crisper, and an unopened carton of orange juice is in the back. Love you.”
“Love you too, oh food swami.”
He kisses me again, longer this time, and grabs my ass for good measure.
“Is oldest taking the kids out?”
“If we pay her, she will. Quickie or not-so-quickie?”
“I still have $50,000 in student loans to pay off.”
“All three holes?”
“Warm you up with my mouth, and then pound my cunt while your fingers are in my ass.”
“You really are the perfect wife.”
I dash away, knowing if I stay any longer I won’t get my run in.
“And that ass,” he calls after.
“Love you too,” I holler on my way out.
I don’t bother looking towards the kids. It’s been enough years that I’ve memorized their embarrasment faces.
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