“Love is the condition in which the happiness
of another person
is essential to your own.”
- Robert Heinlein

 

Bryan and I are so sexy.  We are just amazingly hot.  We realized it as we both climbed into bed last night.  We lay there, both on our backs and trying not to move, and I said, “Remember when we used to have sex at night, because we weren’t worried about bodily fluids we couldn’t control?”

He answered, “Yeah, I think I’m gonna take some Tums.”

Which reminded me to stack up some extra pillows under my head.

Yep, we’re hot.

And I imagine I beat the hell out of him last night as we slept; I dreamt that an old boyfriend came back, while I was married, and tried to get back together with me.  Bryan, conveniently, was out of town, and I was trying to be kind and firm to this unwanted suitor at the same time.  And this man kept touching me.. a lot.  In a way that it’s only appropriate for my husband to touch me.  But having woken from that dream, I imagine that it was merely Bryan, and I beat him mercilessly for something he didn’t even know about.

Who watched Top Chef last night?  Who WANTED Mia to go home?  Mia has been the running butt of jokes in our house since the show started, because everytime there is a challenge that others find difficult, Mia will jump in with, “Well, I used to be (insert anything from homeless to a crack-dealer to a caterer here).”  There was NOTHING Mia hadn’t been.  We half expected Mia to come out with “Well, I used to be a man” at some point.  And she was such a friggin’ martyr.  I don’t deal well with martyrs, especially when they go out of their way to make life harder for everyone.  I always, always, always think of Nancy D. telling me, “To truly be a martyr, you gotta be dead.”

It’s a Thursday with no sushi today, which makes me sad.  Miso soup sounds good to my tummy.  But tomorrow night is the Coven dinner, which makes me very, very happy.

(My tummy, not so much.  But I rule.)