One Fetish Too Far
The lights are off when I get home, and the air smells like the smoke from a pet store fire.
"Hello?" I say.
"In here, honey," my wife calls from the bedroom.
The carpet leading to the bedroom door is covered in fresh corn husks and the rustle they make beneath my feet makes me shiver.
I open the bedroom door to see my wife sitting on the bedside reading The Wealth of Nations. She's wearing nothing but suspenders and a paint-splattered labcoat. Wisps of smoke are issuing from several small clay pots throughout the room.
I nod to the pots, smiling. "Is that dog hair?" I ask.
"Cat, actually," she says, putting down her book. "Persian."
"Nice," I say, and slip off my shoes.
"Happy Valentine's Day, sweetheart," she says.
But what do the suspenders connect to? Ack!
Posted by: the wife | February 20, 2007 at 08:42 AM
Knowing Dean, I'd imagine the suspenders are attached to some sort of prehensile tail.
And Dean, that's disturbing. The wife character was actually *reading* Adam Smith? Creepy.
I hope you're doing well with the tonsillitis. I think I've finally got my bug licked...
Posted by: Marcus Aurelius | February 21, 2007 at 06:36 PM
Yeah, puts a whole new spin on the "invisible hand" thing, doesn't it.
Posted by: Laura | February 22, 2007 at 05:20 PM