Well it’s not Tuesday, but here’s too much information anyway. I thought Florida’s humidity would be closely matched by Seattle’s famous rain. I guess it doesn’t rain that much in January??? I don't know! We have been here three and a half weeks and had one half day of rain and one morning with a light dusting of snow. So with the cold dry air I ended up with my old Ohio skin in Washington; scaly dry and itches almost as bad as that itch caused by antibiotics, nylon panties or wet bathing suits, only on your legs, back and arms.
I didn’t pack any moisturizer because I haven’t used it anywhere but my crows feet in six, almost seven years, and the hotel gives you little bottles for free. This is a great hotel but the free moisturizer has this minty-ness to it, and although it is kind of light, don’t get it in the wrong spot if you know what I'm saying. Like I said, I know it ain’t Tuesday; but what the hell.
So… let me start over so I can tell you what I’m going to tell you.
Hotel sex is great!!! Yeah you know it, do what you want to those sheets, it’s all good.
The bad part: I don’t want to be as vibrantly vocal as I sometimes am. After all, we have at least two and half months left to go in this hotel and I would rather not have the staff stop calling us Mrs. Wendy and Mr. Wayne when we walk through the lobby, and start calling us Daddy and the gymnast. (Ok, I wouldn’t mind that, but Wayne would frown.)
So here’s what I’m trying to tell you:
Last night while watching cable TV, which we don’t have at home so that is a treat, Wayne is into some show called the L-Word, I haven’t seen it but he seems to like to watch it every time it’s on even if it’s a re-run, but I digress. We were watching Dirty Things I wouldn’t Do, or Jobs I wouldn’t Do or Dirty Jobs, whatever it’s called, and I stretched out and put my feet up on Wayne’s lap.
What follows is reason number elevendy hundred and three why I love Wayne; he started scratching my leg. And then he reached under my sock, (wearing socks is another thing I have not done in almost seven years) and scratched my ankle.
“OH YEAH, THAT’S THE ITCHY FUCKING SPOT!!!”
I didn’t mean to yell, it just felt so damn good. I know anyone in the hotel, hotel parking lot and the hotel next door heard me. Maybe they heard me in Tacoma, I don’t know, but I just couldn’t help it. Wayne’s not happy though; hurt that during his Saturday night special I didn’t make a peep, but his Wednesday ankle scratch made me HOLLA, he has threatened sanctions unless I get my oral approvals more accurately timed. Maybe he’s afraid that one of the great restaurants in the Seattle area will cause me to all "When Harry Met Sally" over my entrée.
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