I had accused my husband, during one of my “woe is me” days of not being passionate any more.
Now if a man were to take the challenge to reverse that thinking, my guess was that he would start with flowers, candy, or a romantic CD. Not my husband. Perhaps “passionate” was not the right word. Maybe attentive, affectionate, loving would have brought better results.
But then again, this is the same man who gave me a heating pad for my birthday. The last time I sent him out to buy a goodie, he came home with black licorice. I reminded him he was the one who liked licorice.
A few days after my pity party, he showed up with a red plastic push button. If you’ve seen the Easy Button from the Staples commercial, you’ve got the picture. When I pressed the button, a seductive voice said, “I wish I had a shovel ‘cuz I so dig you.” My husband grins really big. He actually thought he had a winner.
Yesterday this Hottie button, unbeknownst why, ends up for grabs for the best bidder in my spring garage sale.
As usual, I loaded up the SAV (suburban assault vehicle) with leftovers. But I never made it to the Salvation Army. The garage sale leftovers were still in the back, blocking a clear view of the world behind me this morning.
On my first trip to wherever, with grandkids in the car, I drove over a railroad track. Suddenly from behind the seats, I hear, “Is it hot in here or is it just you?”
I continued to drive and hit a bump. A man’s voice from the back, with one of the worse come-on lines ever, said, “Too bad you’re not algebra, because I could study you all day long.” “What’s algebra?” the Bug, grandson No. 1 asked. “And why’d that guy say ‘lo-o-ong’?”
I drove lickety-split to the Salvation Army, raised the tailgate, and pulled out the boxes. A steamy voice rattled from a bag. “Did it get brighter in here or did you just smile?” I laughed and rummaged through the sack. I pulled out the big red button and stuck it in my car’s console.
This is about as sexy a man I’ll ever hear. I’d better hang on to him.
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