Devil In A Blue Dress

With the hubby out of town, hard at work to accomodate the lifestyle I have become accustomed to (snicker, I like to buy the REAL bologna, not that SPAM crap), our relationship has once again fallen to the mercy of telephone calls, dirty text messages and emails.

I'm not much of an email type of gal, and luckily for me, Boo's not much of a reader. I spend so much of my day plugging away at my keyboard working blogging, that I don't have much energy to muster up some clever love letter for my hubs.

We've tried the text messaging route before, but Boo is unable to navigate the line between naughty and playful to just down right skeevy and perverted. For example, last night I received this little gem:

Hey! Nice TITS! Call me. I've got something for you to suck on. xoxo your big bad boo

Yeah, nothing like a little creepy foreplay while I'm out on the soccer field with a bunch of nine year old boys who are pulling their jerseys over their heads and eating grass instead of actually playing soccer, to get me in the mood. Especially when the nosy neighbour leans over and reads my text message.

By the look on her face, she was sorry she bothered. You'd think she never read the word TITS before.

This leaves us with telephone calls to remind each other that we are still in love, or at least legally obligated to keep telling one another that. Generally, our phone calls are brief, as Boo tends to fade in the evening after busting his arse for twelve long hours. I try to pretend I know what he's talking about when he prattles on about what ever the hell it is he does for a living, and he tries to act interested in whatever gossip I have gleaned over the course of the day.

He likes to hear a play by play of my day, who I have visited and what I have spent. I like to hear if he's discovered any more hot Asian chicks, and he wants to know if the Piano Man has managed to land himself another twenty year old biscuit. We like to live vicariously through one another.

Last night, I told him that Jen nominated me for a Perfect Post award. This is a big deal for me, seeing as how it was my first ever nod in that direction. (I'm still kissing Jen's purdy little bum for it, too.)

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Boo, only half interested, as he was surfing his nightly allotment of online porn, ummh'ed and ahh'ed at appropriate intervals while I excitedly relayed the details. When I was done, I sat there attentively, waiting for my hard earned accolades to start rolling in.

"That's nice dear. Will this help you win the Hottest Mommy award?"

"Uh, no, not really. But that's not the point..." I counter.

"Because I'm looking here, and I notice you are slipping in the ranks. You really need to step this up if you have any hopes of winning, you know. Maybe you need to be funnier. Write better or something."

That's nice. I'm getting writing critiques from a man who consistently confuses which there and their and they're to use. Sure, it's just that easy to be funnier. Let me just pull the funny out of my ass.

"Need I remind you, Boo, I DON'T want to win. You want me to win. You want to be able to post those damn pictures of me on the net to rub it in my face that I'm a complete moron for having married you, er, I mean taken those pics in the first place. I don't want to win. By not winning, I WIN and YOU lose. Sounds good to me."

"Whatever. We could always end this if you would just admit I'm right, you're wrong and let me show a couple of the guys in the coffee room some of the less revealing ones. They don't believe me that my wife is hot and I don't have any pics of you other than those. That'd give the boys something to chew on."

"You're an asshat. If you show those pics to anyone you won't have to worry about getting any on our anniversary. You can give yourself your own damn blowjob once I rip off your willy and stuff it down your throat."

Laughing, "Sure, sure. You're just getting fiesty because you miss me."

"You're delusional. How 'bout this Boo. You let me take dirty photos of you and post them on the net. I GUARANTEE I'd win Hottest Mommy then."

"That's just sick, T. Don't even joke about that."

"Come to think of it, Boo, I think I still have that copy of that pic I took of you when we were 20 when you surprised me by wearing my negligee (which he ripped getting it on and off.) I could post THAT picture...hmmm..."

"I burned that picture," he hastily replied. "Besides, I have no recollection of every doing anything like that." He sounds nervous now.

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"Yeah, I think that's what I'm gonna do. If I win the Hottest Mommy contest, you can post all the nudies you want of me. After all, they look pretty darn good, if I say so myself. But I'll just post you and the blue nighty right next to them. We can do the walk of shame together. Maybe we should print off copies and pass them out at this years family reunion. Show them how united we really are as a couple..."

"I'm going to go to bed." Suddenly, it isn't so funny for him anymore.

"You're a chicken shit."

Let the voting begin. Maybe my boy will learn if you mess with the bull, you are going to get the horn.