Category Archives: Fiction

Slippery Little Devil: The One That Got Away

We finally scored a great table on the ship – right on the railing, all by ourselves, just taking time to relax and enjoy our dinner. It was a long day on the water, and the sunset is just the perfect end to the day.

We’ve been enjoying a glass or two of wine this evening, waiting for our table, and then sitting here, we have that perfect blend of attentive, but not around, service. It’s really great.

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Swinging…

It’s been a long, long day at work. We decided to head out and get some dinner, relax a little and try to unplug from the garbage that had gone down.

Dinner was good, the glass of wine was better.

As we head home, we decide to take the scenic route – through the foothills, through the more back-roads ways back to the house. We’re talking bout anything, and nothing. And we’re certainly not talking about work.

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Hand me that tape…

It’s always the same, always looking for the tape, the ribbon, the scissors. It seems like no matter where you put them, she has moved them just a bit out of reach. It’s almost a game to re-find them between packages.

We’re wrapping and sipping and enjoying the fire and this strangely relaxed evening of package prep, getting ready for the holidays and family and all that.

I *hate* wrapping. I’m not good at it, and she’s always responsible for making the packages look passable once they’re beyond “but they have paper on them now anyway” stage. Ribbons? Bows? Frilly decoration-thingies? Forget it.

But, of course, you DO know how to incentivize. “For every package you wrap, we’ll play strip-wrapping – I’ll remove one piece of clothing of my choice.” This. This has me fully engaged in this process, I must admit.

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Moonlight Picnic

As you pull in from a long day out working and just flat-out getting stuff done, you slowly walk to the door and fumble around with the key. I open it from the inside for you and hold my hand out – helping you across the threshold. “Well, hello, stranger… ” you say as you step in.

Just inside the door I have a blanket, folded up and on top of a big picnic basket.

“What’s this,” you ask, “are we going somewhere?”

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