|Country comes to Town....|
December 16, 2005
The phone burbles softly and once again, plays hide-and-seek with me. Not fair. It's so tiny and there are so many excellent hiding places in this house. Why just on the bedside table there are towers of books, skycrapers of various lotions, puddled candles and tapers. On the floor, well, so many pillows get tossed out of the bed and take fluffy stuffed animals with them. Of course, the Velveteen Bunnies are still nestled against me, one in front and one in back.
Of course, I miss the call. Then, I NEVER find that wicked, perverse, teasing cell phone. The other phone hollers out and I just kick it in petulance. Well, I had a very busy night last night. Sleeping in one realm, wide-awake and doing such amazing things in another, it's going to take some time to adjust to this day-light reality.
Soooo, anyway, we finally make contact and Himself is one happy guy. He's managed to get almost two weeks off for the holdiays and he wants our celebrations to begin tonight . This means, taking the highway and going to town.
Dress Up? Oh, just a little. That means he would like to see that cashmere sweater I'm almost too scared of to wear. It's so pretty and so delicate. A lovely pinky-champagne colour with silvery threads woven into it and a rather low neckline, a sort of sweetheart neckline. New de-constructed jeans. My choice of either Valentine Red panties with matching bra or DarkVader Black. Kneesocks and stacked heeled black penny loafers. Black coat. My adorable new gloves...he calls them "Pretty Little Bitch" gloves 'cause they are adorned with the cutest little puppy. OH, he only calls them that when he whispers in my ear. Still, now that's what I think whenever I see them or put them on.
I'm to be a rhapsody in Champagne, black and cream. On top. Hmmmm, Red underneath? I can't help it, I always think of what Mouse used to tell us when we were little girls, "Always look in the mirror to see what it looks like when you take down your jeans or pull off your top. Do your panties clash? Does your bra or cami or whatever look nice? Front? Back? NEVER wear mismatching or clashing underthings. EVER." Shoot, she even taught us to take into consideration our hair colour, especially if it was long and spilled down our backs. (Like mine. Then and now.)
As we got older, she instructed us to try and see in our mind's eye, what sort of picture we would be making if someone else was taking our clothes off! Or, if we were being watched as we took our clothes off! Sure, we all knew to wear nice underthings in case we ended up in the hospital for, of course, good Southern Girls would never ever want total strangers in an ER to be shocked by their drab panties. Or poorly manicured nails. But, the real reason, well, one should never knew when you may have to undress. Or be undressed.
Anyway, there goes my day. Funny, an innocent invitation to go out for dinner ("Babygirl, I feel like an excellent steak and a good glass of wine.") can rattle a girl. It's at least forty minutes to the city limits, after we get to the highway and one can be really surprised all the diversions and conversations that can take place during that time. Actually, after the past three or four weekends, just climbing into that truck makes me blush furiously. Anywhere my eyes comes to rest floods my mind with very decadent images.
Now, to be fair, I always suspected he'd take to the life up here like a pintail to water. I didn't truly expect him to surpass me, though. *heehee*
He advised me to try and take a nap, too. Preferably NOT in the tub. (I do fall asleep in tubs of steamy scented water and it bothers him terribly. Don't know why, I've been doing that all my life. Ain't drown yet.)
Wait a minute? He advised me to take a nap? Ohhhhh,no. That sounds, well, like he has extensive plans for this evening.
Wife-like, I remind of the tons of Noel chores on my Ain't Got It Done Yet list. He just laughs. One of those laughs.
Soooo, here I am, listening to the BlackCrowes and of course, the DriveByTruckers, trying to quell this delightful, distracting nervousness. Since we do not do that massed-produced FamilyNote thing for the cards, I find myself almost unable to even write a sweet little note to accompany pictures and presents and cards.
Just think...I've got him all to myself for a whole week. OR is it the other way 'round? Sure, there are tons of distractions...the folks in Texas are way unhappy with us, again and since they are not the type to suffer silently, we're hearing about it.
It's funny, how we don't hear from some of them for ages, then the holdidays approach and wow. Just like when we all lived in the same zip code: Battles. Scenes. Ultimatums. Threats. Tears. Crowns-of-thorns pushed down tight.
And all I can think of is the sight of Himself sitting on the back steps under the moon light last night, his long legs stretched out, watching the smoke of his cigarette drifting in the crystal diamond-sharp air.
It's going to be a long day.