Four centuries back Johnny Ray had proclaimed, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” Turned out my road to inactivity used the same cobbles. My work on the computer mesmerized me and the early morning slipped away and each quarter hour’s passing made my promise of exercise and a bike ride less likely. At 9:20 I glanced at the lower right corner of my computer screen, saw what time it was and profaned, “Crap.”
Exhaling deeply I decide to just run through some basic stretches and perform a rudimentary calisthenics regimen. I’m counting off push-ups when Jean enters the house.
“Hey. How was class?” I ask.
“Great! Loved the format today. How was the ride?”
“Tony! What’s up with that? It’s beautiful out; you’d love it.”
“I know, I know. Glad class was good. I gotta pack.”
“You still haven’t packed!? Tony, what have you been doing?”
“Working. I’ll log off and get packed.”
“Please. We need to be out of here by ten.”
“I’ll be ready,” I reply.
When ten rolls around I’m still not ready. I’d dutifully gone upstairs to pack my tiny suitcase when the sound of water cascading in the master-bath distracted me. Looking up from my dresser where I was gathering necessities I spy Jean’s naked form in the shower. Her beauty proved too much distraction and temptation for me and I slip out of my clothes and through the glass door to join my impeccably formed mate in the transparent shower enclosure.
“Tony,” Jean protested, “we don’t have time.”
“Time? I got to shower,” I respond standing behind her, grabbing her by the hips and bringing my excited body firmly against hers.
“Great, shower,” Jean answers. “No time,” she adds swatting rather than stroking what’s pressed against her lovely behind. “Later,” she adds, speaking the most disappointing yet hopeful word an excited man can hear.
“You sure?” I try one more time, “Last chance!”
Jean shakes her head. “I’m sure. Now move. I need to get ready too,” she says, wrapping a towel around her short, white hair.
As I shower I watch my wife through the glass shower walls. “Hey!” I yell over the sound of the splashing shower, “Have I told you how unbelievably beautiful you are?”
“You have,” Jean replies, bending over to pull the hair dryer out from a lower bathroom cupboard, an action that causes my jaw to drop in both wonder and desire, “and you’re still not getting any before we get to Florida.”
“Yuck. ‘Florida.’ If you’re going to talk dirty to me then at least make it the sexy kind. What time are we meeting Sean and Loren?”
“I told them we’d get to the hotel right around five. I’m turning on the hair dryer now; I won’t be able to hear you!” she says, flipping the blow dryer on.
“That’s not the only thing you’re turning on,” I reply. Jean didn’t hear, she wasn’t listening and she had different things on her mind than I did.