Husbands are creeps.
I look at my wife while she sleeps sometimes. Press up against her when there is clearly enough room on my side of the bed.
When I zip her dress, I don’t have to be so close. There is no reason for it. In fact, it makes it that much harder to zip. It takes longer than it should. But there I am, my nose a half inch from the back of her neck. So close that I can see the little hairs and smell her oil.
I smack her butt, as if we are on the same team in a winning locker room. This isn’t an admission of our sex life. It’s an everyday, fully clothed, walking from the kitchen to the living room thing. “You need me to cut the onions?” Smack. “That lasagna was good!” Smack.
Stepdaughter’s nose wrinkles. Stepson hides his face in couch pillows.
But, since I met my wife I learned what being hot under the collar really is. It’s not anger, but its not movie love either. You know, when necks are grabbed and materials are swiped from the tops of desks or dressers, because sex can’t wait and the floor is too far and, nobody ever has to clean up after themselves.
Have I ever ripped open a blouse and heard a half dozen buttons rain upon the floor? Imagine it. It would be more disastrous than throwing a girl in the pool, whose fully dressed with her hair just did. There would be consequences and repercussions. No sex would be had.
Married passion is different by necessity. There are three other people in our house, one of whom sleeps in our bed. We can be spontaneous, but only within definite windows of time. Lets not even talk about being tired. You know, because the Uma ate four creamsicles and spent the entire night throwing up over the edge of the bed. There are worse throw-ups, by the way. At least it’s neon orange, so you can see it when your half sleep. Bile is much worse. I’m kind of an authority.
Over the past seven years I’ve become an expert in anticipation. She’s my desert, with the cherry on top. But when she runs her fingers through my hair, I feel it all through my spine. And holding her is the only soul food I need.
I don’t think she knows the power she has over me.
I’ve written about my wife before, here. And I will write about her again. Because I think she’s the best thing since sliced bread.