Thanks. In a snotty way.

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YESTERDAY

So we’re sitting around munching Thanksgiving food, being generally lazy and discussing the kidlets I am currently working with, right? (classroom, ages 6 & 7) And I’m explaining how, when they have a snoot full of snot, there are a few (all boys) who honk it back up in a giant sucking/snorting extravaganza instead of, y’know, blowing their nose.

And my husband says, “Well, who wants to blow their nose?” and then regales me with tales of sleeve-wiping and booger-picking and general horrid germy-ness GUNK from When He Was A KidTM.

Which, of course, I put a stop to.

Because I’m eating.

But it does occur to me that — since this is Thanksgiving — I should be thankful for the fact that, once he grew up, he adopted the practice of blowing his nose.

Because otherwise…

Eeeuw.

So if you’re not sure what to be thankful for this holiday season, I’d encourage you to think of the odd things. The potentially not-worth-attentive-appreciation things that really, if you thought about it, you’d be damn thankful for.

Such as: the proper disposal of snot.

(Only maybe don’t think about it while eating.)

Frankentummy

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My husband and I joke about his Frankentummy — criss-crossed from surgical scars over a course of years, and at one time containing staples, the concept fit.

Now, in Bride style, I am sporting a Frankentummy of my own. 🙂

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Breakfast

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The fade-sleep fog obstructs the view through sleep-blurred eyes; like framing a photograph through a glass partition, my mind comprehends the dream reflection as well as the waking world on the other side, one superimposed over the other in surreal clarity. The former is warm with soft wanting, the latter a cool kiss of morning air on drowsily aroused skin.

His form, passing the open door to my chamber, reminds me of my dream — sexual, decandent, delicious — and I crook a finger to beckon him in.

He comes to me, lays over me.

But this is not what I want.

It is morning. And I am… Hungry.

Wrapping a leg around his thigh and placing a hand on his shoulder, I use two limbs to urge his lips away from my neck and push him further down my body.

He is slightly startled by this turn of events, but hungry dreams have given me an appetite this morning and I expect him to sate it.

Guiding his head between my legs, I stretch and sigh as I open my thighs, giving one simple direction as his lips land on the swollen damp evidence of night-time’s desire aroused.

One. Simple. Direction:

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The rest is still unwritten…

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side photo of woman sitting at a wooden table writing/typing on a laptop
image via Pixabay

Somehow we have come to the end of September without my having written many of the musically-inspired posts I meant to.

It seems that every year I do this project, I have ^that feeling^ to some degree. But being interrupted by LifeTM is just what happens when you’re living it, I guess. And this month my surgery took quite a lot out of me.

I *did* have some ideas going into this project, however, that while I may not have time to pound out into the full expansions they deserve, may be fun to share in micro-concept.

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