My husband and I have been married for 17 years, and while I
wouldn’t say the thrill is gone, on occasion it turns up missing. Here’s the most
recent example.
My husband is sitting in front of the television on a Sunday
afternoon. He’s watching a football game
and probably will watch another after this one is over. I’m in the kitchen,
fretting over what to prepare for dinner.
Not really. I rarely fret and
when I do, it’s definitely not over dinner. I’m actually preparing lunch and
peeking at the game.
The cameraman turns his lens to the sexy cheerleaders on the
sidelines and I get an eyeful of what I’d call the new version of “dirty dancing”. These hot babes are humping like dogs in
heat.
“Nice twerking,” I say to my husband.
He’s too engrossed watching the gyrating chicks on the
screen to respond. When the camera returns to the game, he spins around to look
at me.
“What’s twerking?” he asks.
Where has my husband been for the last few decades? How can
you not know what twerking is? So, I decide to show, not tell. Big mistake on
my part.
“This is twerking,” I say and shake my 50+ booty in front of
him. He begins laughing uncontrollably, nearly reaching hysterics.
“You really shouldn’t ever do that again,” he says, once he
can breathe again.
“Thanks a lot,” I say, embarrassed as hell. The thrill is definitely gone when it comes
to twerking for my husband. Guess I
better leave that to the cheerleaders.
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