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Brat Monkeys, Daddy Cuffs and Losing My Composure

May 6th, 2010 Comments off

I was doing dishes, and getting ready to make dinner (strip steak on lettuce, tomato, cucumber and olives topped with cubes of Monterey Jack, and seasoned with Italian dressing – simple but delicious), when M sidled up to me and slipped His hands around my waist.  “Whassa matter, brat monkey?” he asked as His lips tickled the curve where shoulder meets throat.

I sort of ducked away from Him, smiled shyly and said, “I kind of feel neglected.”

I hate telling Him when something’s wrong.  His life is a delicate juggling act.  He’s always got ten or twelve balls in the air.  Things are so much easier on Him if I can just sit in the bag, quiet and content, taking care of Him and myself and the house and the birds, leaving Him to the other ten or twelve balls.  Read more…

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