“I still don’t think the ‘rents trust me,” I said, handing him a wet glass. Drying it seductively, he maintained eye contact with me.
“Why should they, you’re a cradle robber,” he chuckled.
We were wearing mismatched pajamas. He had on the pants, and I was swimming in his 2X shirt.
“You were also my one and only serious relationship.” He twirled his damp towel, raising the weapon over his shoulder to crack me on the ass with a wicked whiplash.
“I had to train you right,” I countered, side-stepping the flick. “After 30 years I’m just about done.”
I like the funny poignancy here. Great 100, Tar rah.
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I’ve only got 5 years in on my cradle robbing training, it’s a bit daunting to think there’s at least 15 more to go 😉
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Seems like it is lasting lony enough. Good one.
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Wow, how things change when one falls off the blogging merry-go-round. I’m trying to get back on, and of course I thought I you, Tara R. Glad to see you’re still thriving!
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It’s always good to see you Scribe. I hope you will be writing again. I’ve missed you.
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Just perfect, funny, sexy with just enough smart ass to make it fun! 😉
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