When Wayne and I first moved into our house it was ciaos.
His brother bailed out on helping us and his dad showed up to help us. The truck was too small and we moved on New Years Eve.
So around midnight, after Wayne finished moving in the refrigerator and washer and dryer all by himself, we barely managed a kiss, let alone “breakin in” the house like we had planned to do.
There was no sex in every room of the house, including a kitchen counter encounter ala the Glynn Close and Michael Douglas' romp through the dirty dishes in Fatal Attraction.
We were going to christen our sparkling new extra large tub, get our new shower dirty and test out the padding under the new carpet all in one night.
Well... yeah, that didn’t happen. If fact it didn’t happen for 3 days. And at that point I decided we were “breakin in” our new house even if we couldn’t find the bolts for the bed.
So I got in the shower, by myself, washed everything and shaved almost everything. I was just too damn tired for a full groom, so I figured if I just shaved the front of my legs we could get in a quicky and the pressure would be off till we could get everything unpacked.
Gawd I love Wayne.
Turned out it wasn’t a quicky and it turned out I shaved the wrong side of my legs!!!
He loves me mostly for my mind, which is a really good thing, because even though we haven’t moved in five years, there are the occasional times when my legs get a little fuzzy. I mean I definitely tried to keep them shorn below the knee but sometimes my thighs are just too much for me to tackle. But lately I have been working a lot. A full time job, finishing scripts, trying to get my book published, my mom is visiting from Ohio and maybe I have been letting things slip a little, just a little.
I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten until Wayne told me if I didn’t shave my legs soon, he was going to make me wear Birkenstocks.