If I can manage it, after dinner I make a run for my bedroom, leaving poor Curt stranded in my wake. I hole up on the bed, remote in hand and watch the news. The whole while Elle paroles the hallway, looking to get soused, boob-a-holic that she is. She's not really hungry, but just tired and cranky enough to want to clamp down on my nipple for the next hour, popping off intermittently to squawk at Evan. As you might imagine, it's a lot more fun for her than for me.
I was all snuggled up tonight when there was a knock at the door.
"Yes?" I asked wearily.
"Can I get your trash madam?" Brett intones in his best Jeeves voice. Gathering all of the trash from the cans his one of his nightly chores.
"Oh, like room service!" I joke.
"Yeah, just don't ask me to turn down the sheets or fluff anything. I'm not a fluffer."
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3 comments:
Well, I'm so glad he's not a fluffer! That was a great one.
Aaahahahaha! Thanks for the laugh! Too funny! If he only knew! ;)
Priceless!
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