You’re in the front room, singing. It’s that Foreigner song – I hear you, just perfectly on tune. “I’ve been waiting… for a boy like you…” you’re singing. I call across the house and correct you – “it’s ‘waiting for a girl like you…” I tell you. “You’re not REALLY correcting me, are you?” you say back.
I’m racing to get ready. I really didn’t originally want to go to our friend’s for dinner and drinks, but you can be… persuasive. I was bemoaning that I didn’t waaaaaannnntttt to… and you walked out, that sexy black lingerie was the only thing you have on.
You stopped a beat, then let your dress slide down over your head, shoulders and that body.
“Aw hell, that’s not fair….” I said.
“No, really, it’s ok. I’ll just go by myself,” you tell me. You grab your purse and head out. “Besides, the bus coming in now…” you step out the front door and disappear.
I race after you, grabbing my stuff. There is NO WAY in hell I’m missing out on this evening!
You have to be more decisive.