Thank you guys so much for all the helpful words of encouragement and for sticking by me through my traumatic surgery. I'm doing much better but still am not totally up to solid foods. Which leads me to today's story.
For some reason, along with my tendency to not be able to sit around and do nothing when I'm hurt or sick, I also get increasingly, um, wanton of physical love.
So yesterday, even though I was sweaty and gross from two days of wallowing in my own pity party, I decided it was high time that Harry molested me. I didn't think that he'd care that I had on no bra, no makeup and that my hair accessory of choice was a scrunchie from the 1980's so I jumped up (translation: I flopped around in the brown recliner until it un-reclined and flung me toward the brick fireplace) stopped in front of him and pulled up the front of my brown, ribbed tank top.
I wiggled, jiggled and giggled and was only slightly surprised that it did not yield the lovenesting session as I had hoped and instead left him gasping for air as he laughed and guffawed from his own respective recliner.
Huffing, I pulled my shirt back down, tucked a greasy hair strand behind my head and stomped into the bathroom. After tending to my business, I stood before the sink and stared at myself in the mirror, frozen with my mouth hanging open and my hands stuck in the flow of the cold water.
I had a mushy pasta noodle stuck to my upper chest.
Needless to say I showered this morning for a good hour just in case other mushy foods were stuck to other parts of my body that I was unawares and would then jiggle in front of my poor husband.