“Why do I suddenly feel like we are married?” Those were the first words out of my mouth once the bright California Sun had cleared some of the bank induced haze from my brain. The best of all husbands and I had been dating for just under a year and Jeff had popped the big question: “How do you feel about living together?”
“If you want this to go anywhere in the next half hour, we really need to pick up some speed here,” I mutter. I’m in bed with the best of all husbands, not quite dressed and not quite naked. We just got back from our weekly grocery run and have a bit of down time before we need to get ready for our dinner invitation. Jeff spent the morning playing with clay at the ceramic studio, though he likes to think of it as important creative work, and I caught up on some important paperbacks. So here we are with a sliver of time to ourselves, ready to do what a couple is supposed to do on a Sunday afternoon and it feels a lot more G-rated than triple-X.
Sunday evening. We are getting the house ready for our cleaning lady the next day. Can’t let her see what the place looks like after we spent the weekend at home. Jeff just finished washing the dishes and has stacked them on the counter. Now the strange thing happens. Instead of grabbing a dishtowel to help me dry, he grabs his book without a word and disappears upstairs to the bedroom.