About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.
Friday, February 11, 2011
The one thing I'd leave my husband and children for
Dear hotel room bed with fluffy pillows:
Let's not waste time on pleasantries. I wanna get with you. So bad. So very bad. I'm really desperate. I want to try every position: fetal, spread eagle, face down--all night long. You can be on the top; you can be on the bottom. It doesn't matter as long as we are alone.
But when? When can we be alone? I keep calling, but you're never home. What am I gonna do. Tonight, tonight, tonight - oh. I'm gonna make it right...
Wait, how the hell did this letter turn into a Genesis song? Oh, right, I've been up since 4:30 a.m. feeding my damn kid. I'm delirious. See? Do you see how badly I need you and your expansive white mountains of uninterrupted REM ecstasy?
You could make me whole again.
Call me. Now.
Affectionately, longingly and horizontally yours, Mrs. Mullet