Sunny, 75, and a breeze out of the South.
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Sunny, 75, and a breeze out of the South.
Appropriately enough, it was sunny last Sunday.
The neighbors on both sides of us were gone to the subdivision pool.
I was in no condition to enjoy the water myself, having been sunburned in an odd pattern the day before at the pool.
The shape of the burn looked suspiciously as if sunscreen spray was applied to me by a person of approximately the same height as my wife, as I was carrying a 14 month old in my left arm/side while kneeling down to help a 3 year old into the foot-deep kiddie pool.
So on this sunny Sunday, I could be found in a small patch of shade on the patio,
reading a book and listening to tunes.
My own collection.
Modern commercial radio gives me a rash.
The kiddies were down for a nap.
It was a beautiful moment complete with birds chirping and the rustle of the tree branches in the light breeze.
The wife emerges from the house.
In a bikini.
I slide the sunglasses down my nose a bit for an unfiltered view.
She lays out several lounge chair cushions and a towel, with intent to lay-out in the sun, just beyond my feet.
This despite the recent article in Newsweek we discussed about the addictive nature of sunbathing.
I think about scolding her, but instead take a pull from the whiskey tumbler.
It's just not proper etiquette to scold a woman in a bikini.
Just to hit my homemaker's quota of bitching for the day, I made the decision to hound her about turning in her expense reports for reimbursement later instead, when she has more clothes on. That would have to do.
The album ended after another twenty or so minutes of ogling, and my tumbler contents must have evaporated, because it was dry.
I'd only advanced the book a few pages.
On returning outside, I discovered that the wife had turned over on her belly... and removed her top.
There's only one small step out to our patio, but I still nearly managed to miss it, sloshing a small drop of the precious amber elixir. Ah, let the angels have their fabled share.
I put the album into the player and resumed my shaded perch. The show was getting better in the second half.
Maybe those expense reports could wait another day or two before I followed up with her about them.
So, it was then that the wife looks over and winks, "Ya like that do ya?"
"Well, yes."
"We've been together forever and it's nothing you don't get to see everyday."
I also chose to let the double-negative slide, you know, considering.
"Yeah, but this is, like, naughty."
Another smirk and she turns her head away and back down to sleep.
The tumbler gets empty again, somehow. I need to get up to go fix that again.
But she's still just laying there, sleeping, topless.
Mischief floods my percolating synapses.
I set the tumbler down gently, and reach for the wallet out of my pocket, finding a $5 bill.
Hello, Mister Lincoln. I know you're usually found on Mount Rushmore, among other places, but I think that the Grand Canyon would suit you better just now.
So, instead of advice, I gave my wife a tip.
A quick tug from the wrist, up and out, slide the bill in, then let the bikini snap back.
Ah, the outdoors. Great for developing a deeper appreciation of my favorite national monuments.