She loves me THIS much...

WARNING: This post might gross some readers out.

"Mummy, I've got something that you can pop on my back," says Rissa as she comes down the stairs.

I leap up from my chair.  "You do!?!"  This is groundbreaking.  Rissa rarely lets me anywhere close to Zit Country.  I can usually see it only from the highway, passing at 117 km/h.

"Yes.  BUT.  I have to ice it first to dull the pain."  She heads to the freezer.

"Well, yes, of course, you ice it..."  I try to act all nonchalant... I keep my hands demurely clasped in front of me.  I don't say, "Let me see, let me see, let me see!"

She presents her back, and pulls her cardigan to the side.

"Wow," I say.  Impressive.  It is an impressive zit.

"Wait.  JUST.  WAIT," says she.  She holds the ice cube to it - wincing.  "Okay, do your worst."  She turns her head to the side.

David comes around the corner.  "What's going on?"

"Rissa's letting me pop a zit!!!!"

"Really?"

"I can't reach it," says Rissa.

"Godspeed," says David.

"With great power comes great responsibility, With great power comes great responsibility," I chant silently to myself.  If this goes well... Dare I hope?

I squeeze the zit - a spectacular amount of guck comes out.   I do my best to internalize my 96% similarity to apes and do not whoop out loud.  "Ice it again."

"Again?"

"Again.  I want to make sure that I got it all."

She looks at me in horror.

I shrug apologetically.  "I know what I'm doing here.  Years.  Years of perfecting this."

She raises the ice cube again.

"Ready?"

"O....kay..."

I finish the job with finesse.  "Here.  Here is a Kleenex.  Apply pressure."

"Apply pressure?!?"

"Yeah.  Just so you don't get blood on your sweater."

"Blood on my..."

"Just do it."

"It still hurts."

"Medicine, in my side of the vanity.  Apply now and when you get back from school.  My job here is done."

I will wait until she's left for school before doing my Snoopy Dance.  Gross?  Most definitely.  Satisfying?  Words cannot express.

6 inches to sleep on...

“Do you have that little carpenter’s level handy?” I ask.

David looks over at me from his side of the bed.

“Because why?”

“Because I’m feeling pretty askew here,”  I say looking down at my torso.  My boobs are doing a great impersonation of a ship in distress – listing to the west.  “We have a divot in the bed.”

“I think you mean valley.  I don’t think there’s any sod that needs to be replaced from a bad golf swing.”

“Valley then.  Our bed has a valley.  See?”  I prop myself up on my side and immediately roll to the middle of the bed.  “It’s fine when I’m flat on my back, my tatas are equalized, but if I try to go on my side…”  I demonstrate a second time, rolling into David.

“That’s why,” he says - a light dawning.  “That is why, by the end of the night, I wind up with 6 inches to sleep on.”

"That's what she said."

"BAH!"

“I’m  not doing it on purpose,” I say.  “Divot.”

“Valley.”

“Whatever.”

Is it wrong to do this with my husband beside me?

I'm holding my hands to my face to hide my blushing cheeks.  David shakes his head at me. 

"You are ridiculous."

"I can't help it."

We're watching The Good Wife.  Finn Polmar has just flirted with Alicia Florrick.  I feel it would be bad form to beg to rewind the scene... right away...  with David beside me.  I'll wait until the episode is over.

I'm such a cheap turn on.   I remember way back, watching Chocolat on VHS, listening to Johnny Depp say, "I'll come round some time and get that squeak out of your door."  The look on his face as he watches Juliette Binoche walk away?  I almost broke the tape rewinding it. So much better than porn. 

 ( 1:50 is where I lost my mind.)

Then there's the film version of Pride and Prejudice with Kiera Knightly and Matthew Macfadyen where Mr. Darcy helps Elizabeth into a carriage and then there's a close up of his fingers... and he FLEXES them.... because he's so affected by just TOUCHING her!!!   Those 5 seconds make me hyperventilate. 

And before the Colin Firth fans get their knickers in a twist... yes, the pond scene in the Pride and Prejudice miniseries...  That's just a given.  The whole series, for that matter, acts as foreplay.  6 hours of Austen foreplay is always better than 2 hours and 9 minutes.  David is guaranteed sex after I've watched anything Austen.

Back in the present, Rissa comes in to say that she's going to bed.

"WAIT!!  Watch this with me!"

David rolls his eyes and leaves the room.

I sit on the edge of my seat as Rissa first watches the inital scene with Alicia and Finn when they make the rules about what sort of interaction they should have, and then, despite their best efforts, they end up at the diner on a date-date and he says "I can't say anything...." and does this shruggy-glancy thing.

"Do you SEE?!?"

Rissa looks at me like I'm nuts.

"I think I need more context."

As I ready myself for bed, I finally understand why the fan videos pop up.  I want to have every interaction that Alicia and Finn have ever had and edit them all together so that I can get a hit whenever I need it.

And, if I want to wallow, nay revel, in masculine edibles,  I can fantasize about the other men on the show, 'cause it's not just Matthew Goode this season.  Taye Diggs has been added to the firm, plus there's  campaign manager, Stephen Pasquale - and let us not forget Matt Czuchry as Cary Agos - who, I'm sure would never be able carry me Rhett Butler style up a ginormous staircase, but still has a voice that sounds like he's talking dirty all the time.

"You're fantasizing about them right now, aren't you?"  asks David.

I find myself startled. "Well, I mean... COME ON... I could have Finn, Dean and Johnny all... um... massaging me, with Cary whispering dirty nothings in my ear the whole time."

"You know some men might be worried about their wives showing such preference for fictitious characters."

"I have no problem if you imagine Drew Barrymore, Angelina Jolie, Kirsten Dunst and Emma Stone all together." I pause.  "Wait, give me a sec... that would probably work for me too."

And it only cost us $56.48!!!

"OH MY GOD,"  says David.

"G'aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh..." say I.

"It's SOOOOO good...."

"Mmmmmmm.... hmmmmmmm," I sigh.

I move my legs.  It is delicious.

David gives a decidedly dirty chortle. 

"We need to do this more often."

"We are in complete agreement my love."

David makes the same noises he makes when he has his favourite hot chocolate.  "Is it warm enough for you?"

"Yes."

"That's all it takes - just that little bit of heat."

"Yes."

Our hips bump.  We sigh again.  Bliss... unadulterated bliss.

"How much did it cost?" David asks as he rolls us over.

$49.99 + tax."

"So worth it." 

"I'm putting it in as a budget line for next year."

"I love that you think ahead." 

"That's only $4.71 a month...  $1 and change a week.... For all..."  I rub against him.  "Of..."  I kiss him.  "This."  Our hips tremble.

Flannel Sheets from Sears.  For an added thrill - place them over top of a heated mattress pad.  You won't regret it. 

Dangerous: Unmaintained Road

"Wait!  What did that sign just say?" Rissa asks as we careen around a corner as the rough gravel road turns even rougher, then strangely becomes less gravelly and more made of dirt and grass with a light covering of snow.

"Dangerous: Unmaintained Road."

"What?!?"

"Use at your own risk."

"WHAT?!?"

"It's a short cut."

"We're trusting the GPS?!?"

(In the past, the GPS had been known to lead us slightly astray.  I particularly enjoyed a winter's trip to pick Rissa up from a sleepover after a heavy snowfall.  Following our trusty GPS, I noticed the road getting narrower and narrower and, as I drove up a one-lane road, praying to reach the top of a hill, I suddenly realized that the emergency kit was not in the car, nor did I have proper winter boots on, nor did I have a cell phone... and the sun was setting.)

"No worries," says David as we hit another bump.  "It's all good."

We are parallel-ish to the 401.  We'd veered off the 401 because it'd taken us an hour to go 17 km from Belleville to Trenton.  This detour was saving us from an evening of highway entrapment.

Rissa doesn't like bumpy roads at the best of times.  Me?  A good windy, gravelly road is the next best thing to a roller coaster.

"We're all going to die," wails Rissa from the back seat.  "We're aaaaaaaaalllll going to die!!"

"Wheeeeeeeeee!!!" I say, hands up in the air.

"Sit in the middle seat and look at the road," suggests David.

"What road?!?  There is no road!"

"It's an adventure!!!"

"I will have trauma after this ride!"

"You will have a story to tell!!"

"I will have a story to tell... of my TRAUMA!!!"

"Guys!  Guys!!!  I recognize this road!  I recognize this road!!!"  We take the bridge back over the 401.  Kilometres of red tail-lights illuminate the night sky.

"See?  Success!  We would have been stuck in this!  Victorious!!  We are VICTORIOUS!!!"  I then sing a little of the Adventureland Theme Song.

"Yay...." says Rissa weakly from the backseat.

I now understand the zip-up, floral, velour nightie/housecoat/muumuu...

You see them in the lingerie departments of the Bay. You see them in the Sears catalogue. You have memories of your Gran or your Great-Gran wearing one. You think to yourself: I will never wear one of those. 

I'm shopping for one.

I used to sleep naked. I used to revel in my naked slumber. Since the night sweats began, nakedness is not an option. I'm the peri-menopausal Karate Kid.

Blankets ON!  

Blankets OFF!

Blankets on one leg and half your torso!

Blankets OFF!

Blankets on your legs!

Blankets on your torso!  

Blankets OFF!!!

In between fits of thermo-nuclear heat - you get chilled. Your teeth chatter as your sweat cools.

The other night I was in my striped, zip-up onesie. Night sweats came and I UN-ZIPPED. No hems to raise or lower - no pajama tops to tear off, then hunt for on the floor when I got cold. Getting my arms out of the fairly snug onesie did rouse me a bit from sleep, but the zipper - that zipper - EPIPHANIC!!!

This is why older women wear the zip-up nighties/housecoats/muumuus! The zipper is key!! No buttons, no hems, no snaps that you then have to struggle to re-snap after a hot flash!!!  t's all about the zipper!!! You're hot? You unzip!! You're really hot?  You unzip and take your arms out!!! It's perfect. 

SUMMER

WINTER
1 & 2 would be full-length but could zip off the bottoms

I propose going that one step further. Muumuu-sized onesies with a little more give in the arm/shoulder area. Focusing on the on/off functionality would give you the freedom to extract yourself from any arm covering. 

Gen X updated maternity wear - making it fun and sexy.  Now we will conquer night sweat attire.  I'll start a design collective with other like minded night sweat sufferers! 

This is NOT your Grandmother's loungewear! The NÜÜNÜÜ!!!!! (a modern take on a onesie/muumuu). The ADAPTAN!!! (a caftan suited to everyone's needs). The ZIPSIE! (a zip-up nightie featuring zippers in the armpits, legs, crotch and chest area!)

The countertop is my nemesis...

Rage, all-encompassing RAGE.  Because why?  Because David left the peanut butter and honey out on the countertop.

All-encompassing rage with a side of dockworker swearing.  Because why?  Because there are crumbs on the countertop.

All-encompassing rage and swearing with a side of growling and hiccuping sobs. Because why?  Because there are not one, not two, but three broken bread tags on the countertop.

Common denominator?  The countertop.  When pristine, its 4" x 4" tiled surface is charming, and cottage-y.  Problem is, it's never pristine.  When we bought the house the grout was already stained.  The kind of stained that make you think that you might develop dysentery by wiping it. 

We don't have the budget to replace it.  And because I seem to be the only person in the house to actually wipe it - the countertop has become my nemesis.

Quick!  TO GOOGLE!!  "Stained grout."  Huzzah!!  There is grout paint!  The local hardware store carries it!!  I buy it.  I paint the grout.  TA-DAH!!!  New countertop!!

Until I try to wipe the grout the first time.  Until I need to scrub the grout to get all the bits of things that wind up in the grout, NOT on the tile.  EVERYTHING winds up in the grout.  David spilled our tin of dill weed.  I anticipate cleaning up dill for the next 4 years.  I need a special grout vacuum.  I need one of those wee little sucking vacuums that you can use for the crumbs in your keyboard.

I try to remain calm when it's time to wipe down the counters every night.  I approach it with quietly, cloth down by my side so that I don't startle it.  I hum gently to myself.

Wipe.  SIGH.
Wipe.   For the love of...
Wipe.  You YELLOW RAT BASTARD OF A COUNTERTOP!!!!

My parents just replaced their laminate countertops with a Corian solid surface countertop.  It was like seeing Shangri-La for the first time. 

I laid my head on the counter.  "It's so smooth!!!!"  I crawled up on the counter and lay there, my cheek against its cool surface, my hands caressing its non-grouted top.  "Soooooo smooooooth...." I might have wept a little.  Right there I then I decided to put money aside every month to able to afford a countertop such as theirs.  It might take years, but it will happen.