Yesterday I went to dinner with my father-in-law.
He’s a wonderful man who I only see once or twice a year.
The entire time we were chatting around the El Torito table, all I could think of was this:
Sitting in the car. By itself. NOT being read.
The Bean brought it home for me yesterday as a present. I squealed like a schoolgirl when I saw it.
I squealed like a schoolgirl, gave him an excited kiss, then ripped it viciously from his hands and proceeded to ignore him all the way to the restaurant.
By the time we exited the restaurant, the sun had set.
The moon, however, was really full. I could aaaaaaalmost make out the words on the ride home.
It was really frustrating.
The second we arrived home I gave the Bean a distracted kiss and bolted off to bed.
I read until I was beyond exhausted. I had to shut one eye to keep the other from crossing. I was THAT tired.
Something woke me up before dawn, and as I rolled over my first thoughts were of:
I immediately came awake, rubbed some of the sleep out of my eyes and began reading.
When my alarm went off at 6:30, I shut it off with a snarl.
When the Bean woke up and asked me why I wasn’t in the shower, I snarled incoherently at him as well.
When he tried to make affectionate small talk, I ignored him because of this:
When he trailed a hand over my leg in a familiar, lazy pattern, I ignored him.
When he smiled his sexy smile, and tried to hold me close.. I rolled over to my other side and brought the book closer to my face.
When he finally kicked me out of bed 12 minutes BEFORE I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE AT WORK, I told him I hated him and flounced off like a sullen teenager.
I knew he was right, and I knew I was already late, but I was under the influence of this:
I had to leave behind my large purse today, because I knew I couldn’t be trusted with it. If I brought it with me to work, I would have ended up taking a “bathroom break” every 30 minutes.
As it is, that stupid book is all I can think about.
I really need to finish this book so I can get on with my life.