"Die For You"

Maybe the “silicon chip inside her head switched to overload because of one of those perimenopausal power surges. I don't know. But thank goodness it wasn’t Monday. Mondays are bad days for stuff like that. It was Saturday. And she was snappy as hell. Yes, she WAS right about the situation in question. But for some reason it just wasn’t enough for her to be right. It just wasn’t enough for her to accept my concession. Instead she, for hormonal reasons perhaps, had just flipped. She was still spewing “snappy” venom in a quantity that was way above the charm of her normal personality. I was trying to be patient, hoping she’d get a hold of herself. “Bang, zoom Alice!”, was my warning. I already had the “weapon of ass destruction” in my hand. I slapped it against my thigh as if to punctuate an unspoken “bang frickin’ zoom”. She looked. “What’s that for?”, still snappy. That’s right, “weapon” notwithstanding, she was still snapping!


I like her cat scratchiness. It’s cute. To a degree. It shows SugarAnne’s rising self-esteem and growing confidence. Love that. The charm of her delightful personality (wouldn’t quell it; wouldn’t sell it), is flowing freely from holes tweezed of the shrapnel of years battling depression and stuff. But it sometimes over-reaches. Not the charm, the snappiness. Well I’m thinking, “snappy, snappy? Ass get slappy”, I’m thinking that to myself, you see. There’s only one way out and that’s to go in. Go in and slay the dragon. “Get over here!” She’s still snappy even as she lays across my lap. Even before the first stroke! THWACK! The first stroke comes down hard. Real hard. “It’s nice to be right, isn’t it?” I say as she is wiggling and waggling, squirming and squeaming under a steady application of bun toasting strokes. She must’ve been “sorry” (“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, oh, ow! I’m sorry”) about 10 or 15 times before I was convinced.

When is was over, as she lay across my lap, I whispered tenderly, “Die for you”. I knew where it had come from. I just hadn’t been down that deep in a while. I was surprised by the verbalization of my genuine sincerity. Surprised by my emotion.

“Without thinking about it?”, she asked inquisitively, referring to our age-old joke about how I’d do it, die for her that is – if I DIDN’T have a chance to think about what I was actually doing.

“Even if I DID think about it”, I assured her, squeezing her tightly and pulling her to me in a warm post spanking hug. I looked down at her face. A little tension whispered from a wrinkle right between her eyes. Damn. I hadn’t got it all. The dragon lives to fight another day. But for now, I gently ran my thumb over the wrinkle and rocked her gently.

“Relax.” Again a whisper followed by a gentle kiss on her lips. I was having a moment. A tender moment. A “muskrat love” kinda moment. A serious moment. A defining moment. The kind of moment where the sincerity that pours out of your mouth surprises you. You knew it was there all the time but it still surprises you. This was real: this love. Is real: “this thing we do”. I was helping her. At least trying to. And there was a deep sense of certainty that I had about it.

You know what? She worth it. She’s worth championing. She’s worth the jealousy I have for her honor. She’s worth fighting the damned dragon. She’s worth dying for. So I whispered tenderly, “Die for you”. And I meant it too. I know where it came from. It came from a place down deep. I won’t be surprised by it anymore. I had just stepped into its flow.

You know, this doesn’t seem like such “a bad time to be in love”.