“Come here,” he said.
She stepped obediently towards him. He reached his hand out. Pulled the bow. The wisp of black silk slid to the ground.
His eyes held hers.
“In the shower,” he said. “Now.”
She knew better than to disobey him…
Well, that’s this morning’s fantasy over. Is that what you thought when you saw the title? Really? Don’t you know how long we’ve been married…
Saturday morning. I took my lovely wife a cup of tea in bed. “Sorry,” she said, bleary-eyed, “I didn’t sleep well. I didn’t mean to sleep in.”
“No problem, sweetheart” I said. “If you’re tired and want to clean the bathroom another day that’s fine.”
“No,” she said. “We’ll still do it.”
“Honestly, darling, I don’t mind. Another day is fine.”
“We’re cleaning the bathroom,” she said. Yes, in that tone of voice.
…Which rather scuppered my plans.
I’d been planning a morning’s writing. And it was Saturday. A day when my thoughts traditionally turn to the round ball…
“Are you sure you’re alright, darling?” I made one final try over breakfast. “You look a little run down.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Well, don’t forget you need to see your mum today.”
“Not until this afternoon.”
Ten minutes later I was carrying every cleaning implement we own – plus Mr Muscle’s entire range – upstairs. And five minute after that I was balanced precariously on top of a stool.
“There,” she commanded. “Right in that corner. And use some elbow grease.”
And then I was doing the same in the shower. “Right up to the top. And you can clean the shower head while you’re up there.”
Who would have thought a shower head could get dirty? Clean water pouring through it every morning. Ah well, you live and learn, I thought, as limescale rained merrily down on me…
Then it was toothbrush time. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup of tea, sweetheart?” I said, trying a hopeful shot at goal from 50 yards.
“No, you can have a break when the shower’s clean.” Not the words you want to hear when you’re using a toothbrush to clean it. But eventually the tray that holds the shower gel was shining like the proverbial new penny.
And then it was the glass. “I probably ought to go downstairs and put the breakfast things in the dishwasher.”
“You mean you probably ought to go and look at the football forum.”
That’s the problem with our marriage. My cunning plans are long past their sell by date. I need new excuses. Maybe I could embrace advancing years as a get out clause? ‘What was that, dear? Trouble with my hearing aid…’
The toothbrush gave way to a cloth. A vigorous 15 minutes of squirt n’ rub followed. And you know what? I felt a tad vulnerable. There I was on my hands and knees in the shower…
“Whoops!” my wife said – sounding more like Dick Dastardly than Penelope Pitstop – “I nearly knocked the shower tap on, darling. That would have been funny wouldn’t it?”
I crawled out of the shower on my hands and knees. I was so stiff I couldn’t get up.
…And carried on crawling until I reached the top of the stairs. Where – and this will surprise you – I reached for my phone.
“Caught you. I knew you’d be reading a football forum.”
“Well, I’m not, so there.”
“What are you reading then?”
“Anyway, we’re finished.”
“Thank God,” I said, “I need a wee.”
“What? In my clean toilet? I just put bleach down it. You’ll have to wait. Or crawl downstairs…”
My first novel, Salt in the Wounds, is now available on the Kindle.
“Absolutely brilliant story that had me hooked from the first chapter. I was intending to read a few chapters and then do the ironing. Ended up reading the whole book in a day and the ironing was forgotten. I can’t wait for the second book!”