Doing my duty

QUICKIE: The other day I gave Vincenzo a popsicle.  He handed it back and said, “You will hold it and I will lick it.”  So we did.

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I am married to a twelve-year-old boy.  Here’s proof.

 

Me:  Kevin, you’re on kitchen duty tonight.
Kevin: Heh heh heh.  You said “doody.”
Me: *audible eye roll*  We used paper plates, so it shouldn’t be too hard.
Kevin:  Hard!  Tehehehe [echoing down the gutter]
Me: Oh, give it up already!
Kevin: Okay.
Kevin: Can I touch your boobies?
Me: *Sounds of blowing up mattress for self in guest bedroom*

 

Now I will take a moment to reflect on some of the more tender moments in our relationship.   Like the time when we were dating and nearing engagement, and for Valentine’s Day he handed me a Tiffany’s bag with a small, you-know-the-size, box in it.  “Do you want to take a guess on what’s in it?” he asked.   I shyly declined.  He persisted.  I said, “Well, there’s a chance…” and my face broke into a huge grin.  I opened the box and Kevin started cracking up as I pulled out a cheap necklace.  

 

So I cornered him that spring and asked for a ring for my birthday.  He presented me with a much bigger box–containing an O-ring of the nature that one places a toilet upon.

 

Then there was Valentine’s Day of last year, when Kevin told me to dress up BIG TIME for a mystery date, which I did.  He spent months building anticipation, making

sure I made a manicure appointment, asking if I had accessories for my dress, etc.  Surprise, surprise.  The big date turned out to be a WWE event, and girls, nothing says romance quite like Smackdown.*

 

All pre-adolescence aside, I have to note that Kevin was the one who drove back to my sister’s place when I realized I left my glasses there last weekend.  And he spent his day off this week installing a fence for me in the backyard.  And when I dressed up for our anniversary, he just about melted and said, “You still take my breath away every time.”

 

So I’ll love him like it’s my duty, even though it might be hard, but no, Kevin, you still can’t touch my boobies.

 

*This story actually has a happy ending as I caught wind of the big “surprise” ahead of time and ripped off my gown after dinner to reveal a WWE t-shirt.  I also smugly produced a huge sign that proclaimed, “HE TOLD ME WE WERE GOING TO THE OPERA!”  The sign made it on national television that night.  Red heart

WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
Zeke’s Pizza

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