I want to start off with, if any of you object to this, blame my niece. Just blame it all on her. She told me I should post this funny story. (And, of course, move it to the appropriate thread, if I goofed.)
First of all, I want to give a sketch of what my bedroom looks like. When you first enter the room, immediately off to your left is my husband’s desk, computer, and other neat junk. His desk is neat is as pin. He has ROOM on his desk.
I hate him.
Take another step in, and immediately off the right is my disaster area of a desk. There is a bookcase between the door and my desk, upon which sits the printer, paper, a three hole punch, CDs and blank diskettes…and one and a half rows of Wiccan books for me. Then my desk, which looks like it’s buried under…junk. I really need to clean my desk.
Directly at twelve o’clock is the bedroom window. Just off to the right is my Wiccan altar, and then the closet door. Just off to the left of the window is our other book case, and my husband’s night stand. And directly between the window and the door is our bed.
We sleep on the floor (I am half Japanese, so I prefer it anyway). The “mattress” is really just three comforters, stacked on one another. Then there are six layers of blankets, and three pillows.
Between the bed and the window is a collection of wooden brackets, picture frames, and metal book ends. Morgan promises to put up the rest of the shelving by today (which should have been Sunday, but he’s too into Doom these days).
So, today…
We have a wee bit of a blow up tonight. And when he’s going to bed, we do the whole kiss and make up thing. Except the kissing turns into some more. Oh yeah, baby, it’ll be some hot Morgan lovin’. I’m always in the mood for that.
Clothes are coming off, hands and mouths are going every where, and then I stop him. I am NOT about to attempt sex in a chair. Especially sex in a chair that has arm rests and just wouldn’t be comfortable. I finally convince him to let’s hit the bed, instead.
All is going well. Until he starts pushing me towards the bed…in the direction of the window.
Uh oh! There’s STUFF on the floor! Wooden brackets! Pictures! Metal book ends!
So I try to go in the other direction.
In Hulk like fashion, he manages to get an advantage and pushes me in the other direction again.
I promptly slip on the wooden brackets.
Now, picture this. Me, on the bed on my side, naked as the day I was born, having slipped on those brackets. Morgan, half naked, blinking at me and wondering what happened.
And the downstairs neighbours, I’m sure, thinking we’re murdering a whole herd of moose or something. You see, I’m not a skinny little woman. Nosiree, I’m a bit on the bi…err…voluptuous side. And I fell all the way from full up standing to flat on my, well, side. So it wasn’t no thump. It wasn’t even a thump!
No, ma’am, this is a flat out THUMP! The type that wakes the dead clear across the nation. The type that wakes you from the midst of a deep sleep. The type that you hope to never hear again, for if you hear the dread THUMP!, you know that the Slayer of Moose Herds is in your vicinity.
Morgan starts to get impatient, mostly because he wants to get on with it, but…
I’m laughing too damn hard at this point.
Let that be a lesson, people. Never let your klutz of a husband dictate the direction of the romance in the relationship.
