the unmistakable sound of Butterscotch howling. We all froze and looked at each other, cautious smiles on our faces. We waited, silent and still, as the howling got louder. I took a sharp breath in and my mom elbowed me to be quiet. Butterscotch rounded the corner into the kitchen, dragging Sam’s hot pink, sparkly feather boa from Halloween behind him.
We jumped up and cheered and Sam let out a snort. “What is wrong with you people? Hel-
lo
, that cat has serious problems. He is so freaking annoying. Aren’t you like totally embarrassed to be associated with him?” she said, turning to me.
“Not really. I’ve been associated with you for seventeen years. I’ll get used to it.”
“You’re such a loser. Just like your cat,” she said, and stomped off, wrenching the boa from Butterscotch, who looked confused that his latest present wasn’t gratefully accepted.
I turned to Jake, who looked positively thrilled.
“This. Is. So. Awesome. That cat can stay,” he said.
1:00 A.M.
Finally, back at our apartment, gay cat and all, I opened my computer and checked my blog’s comments. I yelled to Jake in the bedroom, “Wifey1025 offered to drive you to work tomorrow if your car isn’t fixed yet.”
“Thanks. Tell her I prefer to get hacked into little pieces next week instead of this week.”
“Will do,” I told him as I walked into the bedroom. I jumped into our fluffy marshmallow bed and snuggled underneath the comforter. “How great does it feel to get in bed?” I asked him, my face buried in a pillow.
“Pretty damn good,” he said, and stretched his arms over his head.
“I know, but Jake?” I poked him in his ribs.
“Yeah?”
“I’m kinda hungry again,” I said, and smiled at him.
“Jesus, we just ate a few hours ago.” He flipped on the television.
“I know, but it’s the hangover. I’ve gone from extreme nausea to ravenous hunger pains. My body is finally ready to accept food. There’s all that leftover pizza my mom gave us.”
“OK, fine,” he said as he casually turned off the television. He slowly sat up in bed. “The deep-dish slices are mine!” he yelled as he scrambled out of bed and nearly trucked over Butterscotch lying in the doorjamb.
“NOT COOL!” I yelled as I chased after him.
He got to the kitchen first and yanked out the pizza box so forcefully the leftover slices slid out onto the floor.
“Nice going,” I laughed.
He looked at me and shrugged. “Ten-second rule?”
We both paused and smirked at each other before diving onto the floor and trying to salvage the slices not covered in cat hair. We leaned against the kitchen cabinets and silently munched on the cold pizza.
“Leftover pizza is nothing short of amazing,” I mumbled as I wiped pizza sauce off my mouth.
“I’ll show you amazing.” Jake smiled wickedly at me as he took the pizza crust from my hand.
“Kitchen floor? I don’t think so. When’s the last time we actually cleaned this thing? Actually, have we ever cleaned this floor?” I said as I tried to grab the crust back.
“Probably not. Who cares? Let’s have fun.”
“Well . . . what the hell,” I said, and allowed him to pull me closer.
We didn’t get back to bed until almost two in the morning. I’m sure I’ll be exhausted tomorrow and find cat hair and dust in some very interesting places, but as Jake said, “Who cares?” We haven’t even been married a year—we’re still newlyweds. We can have sex on the kitchen floor until the crack of dawn while eating leftovers, right? By my calculations we only have a few more years to do things like that, so we might as well take advantage.
Monday, April 23
As I feared, getting out of bed this morning was quite difficult. Newlyweds or not, four hours of sleep after a weekend in Vegas isn’t a good idea. I slunk into Signature Events forty-five minutes late due to a steaming-cup-of-coffee/new-white-blouse debacle. Apparently, even though I have the high and
We jumped up and cheered and Sam let out a snort. “What is wrong with you people? Hel-
lo
, that cat has serious problems. He is so freaking annoying. Aren’t you like totally embarrassed to be associated with him?” she said, turning to me.
“Not really. I’ve been associated with you for seventeen years. I’ll get used to it.”
“You’re such a loser. Just like your cat,” she said, and stomped off, wrenching the boa from Butterscotch, who looked confused that his latest present wasn’t gratefully accepted.
I turned to Jake, who looked positively thrilled.
“This. Is. So. Awesome. That cat can stay,” he said.
1:00 A.M.
Finally, back at our apartment, gay cat and all, I opened my computer and checked my blog’s comments. I yelled to Jake in the bedroom, “Wifey1025 offered to drive you to work tomorrow if your car isn’t fixed yet.”
“Thanks. Tell her I prefer to get hacked into little pieces next week instead of this week.”
“Will do,” I told him as I walked into the bedroom. I jumped into our fluffy marshmallow bed and snuggled underneath the comforter. “How great does it feel to get in bed?” I asked him, my face buried in a pillow.
“Pretty damn good,” he said, and stretched his arms over his head.
“I know, but Jake?” I poked him in his ribs.
“Yeah?”
“I’m kinda hungry again,” I said, and smiled at him.
“Jesus, we just ate a few hours ago.” He flipped on the television.
“I know, but it’s the hangover. I’ve gone from extreme nausea to ravenous hunger pains. My body is finally ready to accept food. There’s all that leftover pizza my mom gave us.”
“OK, fine,” he said as he casually turned off the television. He slowly sat up in bed. “The deep-dish slices are mine!” he yelled as he scrambled out of bed and nearly trucked over Butterscotch lying in the doorjamb.
“NOT COOL!” I yelled as I chased after him.
He got to the kitchen first and yanked out the pizza box so forcefully the leftover slices slid out onto the floor.
“Nice going,” I laughed.
He looked at me and shrugged. “Ten-second rule?”
We both paused and smirked at each other before diving onto the floor and trying to salvage the slices not covered in cat hair. We leaned against the kitchen cabinets and silently munched on the cold pizza.
“Leftover pizza is nothing short of amazing,” I mumbled as I wiped pizza sauce off my mouth.
“I’ll show you amazing.” Jake smiled wickedly at me as he took the pizza crust from my hand.
“Kitchen floor? I don’t think so. When’s the last time we actually cleaned this thing? Actually, have we ever cleaned this floor?” I said as I tried to grab the crust back.
“Probably not. Who cares? Let’s have fun.”
“Well . . . what the hell,” I said, and allowed him to pull me closer.
We didn’t get back to bed until almost two in the morning. I’m sure I’ll be exhausted tomorrow and find cat hair and dust in some very interesting places, but as Jake said, “Who cares?” We haven’t even been married a year—we’re still newlyweds. We can have sex on the kitchen floor until the crack of dawn while eating leftovers, right? By my calculations we only have a few more years to do things like that, so we might as well take advantage.
Monday, April 23
As I feared, getting out of bed this morning was quite difficult. Newlyweds or not, four hours of sleep after a weekend in Vegas isn’t a good idea. I slunk into Signature Events forty-five minutes late due to a steaming-cup-of-coffee/new-white-blouse debacle. Apparently, even though I have the high and
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