I’m having an affair. It’s been going on for a while. Since I quit drinking is has gotten serious. It was a blah Wednesday evening. Rain pelted and exploded on my windshield attempting to slow me down. I mashed the gas with my stilettoed heel. Minivans and Priuses swerved out of my way as if they knew I had to get there. I bit my glossy lip in anticipation. Only a few more miles on the highway.
I had finally arrived. I couldn’t get my clothes off fast enough. I left a trail that started with a patent leather pump and ended with my lacy bra. I fell into thick arms and started to melt. I buried my face and sighed as I filled with the familiar scent. I didn’t mean to pop the blue button. It had been fasted tight with strong thread but it obviously was no match for me. I giggled, comforted, as I watched it tumble to the floor. Fully satisfied I grabbed at a nearby comforter. Time for a nap. I am so in love with you…
Ok, seriously, I really do run home everyday to spend time with my couch. It’s more enjoyable now that I’m not hung-over, wrestling the chunks down, while passing out. Sometimes I am so thankful to let the, “aaaaahhhh,” escape from my lips as I sink into the couch. Is it so horrible to include my love affair with the couch as one of the 100? I know it’s cheating according to the foundation this blog was founded on. For that reason it gets only a mini mention on the list.