"Yumm! Bacon!"

Old habits die hard. Even though it’s become less necessary, just like I did in our B.S. days (before spanking that is), when I get home I still raise up my mental antenna searching for what mood SugarAnne might be in. Searching for how her day may have gone.

On most days (of late) she is bright and airy. Daylight is pouring into the house through unshaded windows and Sugar’s mood is wistful and effervescent. Before my foot falls on the comfort side of the threshold I usually hear her say, “Bby-Maaan!”, in her syncopated “Baby”, hard on the “M” rising to its exclamation point inimitable way. It is a quite “proper” greeting (I think) for a loving husband who toils for the comfort of his wonderful wife. I love these days. The signal is “as clear as a full moon in a cloudless sky.”

On occasion (rare in these “new” days in which she and I live) I might come home and the signal I pick up is dreary and downcast. The shades may not have had the joy of being lifted. The lights may have never been engaged to do battle with the rapidly approaching night. There will be no “proper” greeting on days like these. Tthe air is filled with the suffocating thickness of depression. There is no “Bby-Maaaaan!” candy for my itching ears. And unless she is in view when I walk in, I am compelled to search the house for my sweet bride. I might find her on the sofa in the living room pondering the complexities of life and seasonal affective disorder. Or perhaps in the bedroom curled up fetal, under the covers, fighting one of her historic battles with depression. This is a bad signal. It’s a sign that she is going through a bad hour. And with SugarAnne a bad hour could last for days. Even though these days are few and far between for us now the signal I pick up is as crisp as bacon cooked right.

But some days I have trouble picking up a signal. I have to go into mental oscillating satellite dish mode before I get one. I am just beginning to learn to tune my dial to it. I’m just beginning to learn to decipher it with proficiency. This signal wasn’t there in our B.S. days. But it has pierced the relational airwaves every now and then over the past few months. It’s an interesting signal. One that braids together the effervescent SugarAnne with the contemplating the complexities of life SugarAnne, and then goes out over the relational airwaves in a weird transmission of paradoxical confusion.

I haven’t quite nailed the signal on threshold footfall yet. But as I go through my arrival routine – sorting mail, changing clothes, etc. – the signal becomes stronger and clearer.

“How did you do on your tasks today?” I ask as I scan the area mentally executing a check of the physical checklist I left in the morning.

“Um...uh….er”, she stammers unable to hold eye contact. “Time kinda, um, sorta, uh, just got away from me. And, er, before I knew it, it was, um, too late. So, uh” (pause) “I just 'girled up', she adds sullenly.

I get it now.  I can see the moon now, so to speak. SugarAnne did not complete all of her tasks for the day. There’s no confusion on my part. Not anymore. And there’s no illusion on her part. The situation creates a peculiar, loveable, cute little hybrid of a SugarAnne. This adorable little SugarAnne is the “I know I’m gonna get my ass spanked something fierce” SugarAnne.

When I see THAT SugarAnne, I go get my paddle. Cuz I know it's time to fry that bacon.