“I’m dirty!” the voice behind me said. My head snapped around, and there was my wife of ten years, on all fours, mischievous smile on her face, crawling down the hall towards me. “Take my sweater off!” she ordered.
I know what you are thinking: “Holy @#!$! RedPlanet!, That is pretty hot after ten years of marriage. That Deanna is some woman.”
I know what you are thinking: “Holy @#!$! RedPlanet!, That is pretty hot after ten years of marriage. That Deanna is some woman.”
Indeed she is. And indeed it would have been pretty hot, if she wasn’t holding a stuffed Mickey Mouse wearing a sweater in one of her hands as she crawled along, pretending to make Mickey walk, and had actually been talking to me rather than in Mickey Mouse’s high squeaky voice to the three boys I had in the bathtub at the time. And so it goes.
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