They’ve only just got in the door, you’ve stuck the kettle on and already your mind is whirring.
Like a lioness about to pounce on an innocent grazing (nautical themed) gazelle you judge whether it’s time to strike.
On the outside you’re gazing doe eyed at your sailor as they sip their tea. On the inside you are crouched, coiled with tension, waiting and watching.
They lean back with goofy, satisfied smile.
“Ahh, that’s better, it’s so good to be home.” Says your Popeye.
You murmur in reply “It’s so good to have you home” with a smouldering gaze through fluttering eyelashes.
All the while your lioness half is debating with yourself “Is this the time? Is this the time to strike?!”
You mull it over for a few seconds, blood coursing through your veins. Heart pounding. Pulse racing.
You’ve waited so long for this, you need this. Your mind is spinning with fantasies you’ve been dreaming about during your time apart.
Popeye goes for his second sip of tea.
“Now” whispers the lioness “just do it now, whilst he’s vulnerable”.
You stand up, walk over to him, and get it out.
Placing the innocuous piece of paper down between you both, breathing heavily, trembling with excitement, you begin.
“Popeye I need you, no, I want you to….
….. put the Christmas decorations in the loft, mow the lawn, hang that picture frame, ooh and Sweetpeas flat pack nursery furniture arrives tomorrow so you need to put that together too, the driveway needs pressure washing…”
You can’t stop. It feels so good. So satisfying.
You keep talking faster and faster, listing more and more jobs until Popeye just can’t take it anymore and you finish with a climax “Oh and can you sort out the shed, it’s a tip!”
It feels so good. Finally you get what you need.
All those weeks of dreaming and now those fantasies are coming true.
The “to do” list will be done.