I was laying in bed next to my husband a short while ago, which I do every night, after sex and before sleep, and afterwards I come back out here to piddle around and do whatever until I get sleepy.
My dear Mr. Stasaeon, happy and sleepy, laid with his hands behind his head, and I watched his eyes get heavy. Suddenly, he decides to show me his shoulder, where our youngest cat had scratched him earlier today. I acted appropriately impressed, and he settled back down into half-sleep mode. Then he shows me the little skin tags he’s got under each armpit, and wonders vaguely if they are harmful. I explain to him gently that no, skin tags are nothing to worry about. He asked me if they were tumours and I said yes, but they were benign. It happens to many people, especially as they appraoch middle age. He looks as though he is already asleep. I begin to get up from the bed.
“I have a secret,” he says suddenly; sleepily. I turn to look at him.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he slurs.
“What is it, sweetheart?” I ask.
“Those little skin tags under my arms?”
“Yes?”
“They’re wings.”
I begin to laugh.
“I figure it will take about 50 years to grow them. Then I won’t need my arms anymore.”
I laugh harder. He suddenly wakes up a little, and raises his head the tiniest bit and squints at me through the sleep-fog.
“Wouldn’t you trade your arms for wings? I would, in a heartbeat.”
I bite my lip and watch as reality begins to sink back in. His eyes get a little wider.
“Did I just tell you I had wings growing from my armpits?” he asks.
I nod. He ponders this for a moment, frowning.
“Goodnight,” he says, rolls over, and pulls the covers over his head.
Wings. Awesome.
