Dearest and beloved Reader,
On The First Day Of Christmas, Santa Gave To Me must have been a hit for you to read. Especially the beautiful comment that I received from a loyal reader. After sitting there and quietly chuckling over the comment of how I looked like my Mother, I couldn’t contain my excitement any longer.
Seeing that Lois was on line and like an instant stalker, I was clicking onto the conversation box and proceeded to write. Dropping the comment like it was a bomb made from Chloe, rainbows and skittles, it went quiet from Lois’ side of the line. And because I have the imagination of a criminal writer, I may have thought that maybe I had killed her from shock.
Needless to say, the woman bounced back quicker then I would be able to.
To the loyal, incredibly nice and caring man who is forever reading my posts, Lois would like to tell you something. And I quote, “As your mother, I am having a quiet weep over his words of praise. Thank you”. Also because it doesn’t seem like I am constantly thanking you for picking up your phone, looking at your computer screen and taking these minutes to read what is happening in the world of Nurse Scarlett, I also thank you.
Now after saying thank you and refraining from bursting into tears because it has finally clicked that yes, someone besides my Mother actually reads this; I am once again located at the dining room table. You are probably going to roll your eyes, throwing your hands up in the air and demand that I get my student table back so then I can actually work from there. Okay, I know I need to stop making house calls to the kitchen table and with that, stop conducting my business this way. However in my defence because of my political watching tendencies lately, the brain works best here and that being the kitchen table.
Plus this is where I hold all of my family conversations when I am at The Little White House. While most families congregate over the bathroom counter and have mumbled conversations while brushing their teeth. Others having stilted conversations during the ads of the television show they are watching, I conduct my business in the kitchen.
This stems from the knowledge that I have been told from the women in my life and from watching, ‘My Big Fat Greek Wedding’ that if you want a man to do something for you, cook his favourite dish. Even though it was stated in the movie listed in the previous sentence, “the man is the head but the woman is the neck. And she can turn the head any way she wants.” Having prepared his favourite dish, you want to make it look like when you conduct your transaction that you aren’t greasing him up. This when you then move into second position by praising him for all of the things he has done while being incredibly busy, being a slave at the office.
Oh no, your man may not be Donald Drapper from Mad Men who has incredibly smart ideas while sipping on gin/vodka all day but rather he is Pete Campbell before he was made partner.
Now remember women, it is not about you and how you slaved all day to make sure that the house was cleaned, the kids were feed, tended to and the dog was groomed/bathed. This isn’t including the clothes being washed, ironed and put away, little Jonathan III had a fever and you managed to break it. And that you, Sophia and Victoria had created some master pieces that are now proudly being displayed in their room while finger painting. Then after getting ready and slipping on that dress you have laid out on the bed since 10 o’clock that morning, it is show time.
Greet your husband at the front door with a warm kiss and a small squeeze to the shoulders, as this will make him feel more manlier. You appear as if you are a delicate, feminine and caring wife, who is concerned about how the office was.
Sit your husband down on the couch, listen to him with open non-verbal communicative stance while making the occasional ‘mhm’ sound. Do this while kneading his shoulders as it is releasing the strain he carries around all day from the world. Making sure that he has that most important glass of scotch in his hand with three cubes of ice. Not two or four. Three. Simple, remember that!
When you feel that his tension has eased, excuse yourself. Even though that dinner is ready, you have to make it appear like you have just whipped it up on the spot. Ask him politely and softly while staring at him like he is God’s gift to you, served on a silver platter, if he would go to the dining room as dinner is about to be served. Wait until he leaves after refilling his drink of course with those three ice cubes clanging away before putting on that apron and piling that carefully, tendered meal onto the plate. Make sure the presentation is right because you don’t want it be ruined, because this is important for what you are striving to achieve.
Dream of your goal that you are wanting to achieve by the end of the meal and picture it actually happening. Glance at the clock and realise that ten minutes has passed and you have given yourself enough time to make it appear like you have just cooked dinner. Proceed to pick those warm dishes that aren’t scolding to the touch but are warm enough to suggest the point that dinner was in deed just cooked.
Walk into the dining room swifly but softly appearing like you are gliding across the floor and present your husband with his meal first from the right. Move away from his elbow and position yourself to the right of your husband while placing your meal in front of you. As your husband picks up his cutlery, extend your arm delicately to remove the napkin from the table and place it in your lap before smoothing it down so then your dress doesn’t get stained.
This is when you proceed to eat four small mouthfuls, chewing delicately and quietly between each mouthful. And when you feel as if you need to break the silence, start a conversation about the office. Yes, I know you have already talked about the office and how the CEO is a massive idiot for not taking on your husband’s suggestions.
However it is important to maintain a casual sympathetic look because you don’t want to make him feel like a moron. Suggest one or two comments necessary to the topic, staring at him like he should be the CEO of the company and he could in fact run for Presidency one day. Remember, he is God’s gift to you. You should treasure that knowledge because he is lucky to have you and he could have been instead some other woman’s lucky man.
Proceed to other interesting manly things that make his ego grow before dropping the nuclear bomb that you had been storing away under that petticoat of yours.
In most cases, don’t go for the obvious but rather opt for a strategy that gets you having the ultimate goal. Instead of having the fork in his hand drop a million miles an hour until it bounces off the plate and lands on the floor, you want him to comply with what we know is actually going to happen no matter what.
Remember the man is always the head but the woman is always the neck. Let him ponder on the subject while taking another three delicate mouthfuls and cease the one-up-manship that comes across your face as he let’s it out like it was originally his idea. Once again, maintain the ego flattering that makes him feel even more manlier because you have officially succeeded in life and you wait with baited breath until the words are said.
“Dearest, I am saddened to hear that Blah and Mrs Blah are homeless after their house burnt down. And they have a child on the way. Just to think, it could be us in that situation. I think it would be best if we offered them the guest house until they are stable on their feet”.
No need to mention that Blah and you previously dated before meeting your husband. And that you two have play dates with your children because you have remained friends post romantic relationship. No, don’t mention that at all.
After sitting there and mentally patting yourself on the back, you proceed to clear away the dishes because your man has had a very busy day. Get him to relax once again on the couch with a cup of coffee, because no one likes a drunk for what is coming and start stacking the dishes into the dishwasher. After pressing the button and resisting having to do the hallelujah dance because once again, you’ve got your way, you strike into position three. Having tapped the walls to see which ones were sturdy enough while the children were napping this afternoon, you make some motion about having a shower. And that you won’t be too long.
Having become engrossed in whatever is playing out on the screen, he doesn’t notice that you have stepped out of visual eyesight and you are now watching him. Moving positions like he is wrestling just like the guys on the screen because he has pulled up some manly sport that makes the testosterone race through the body, you wait. Striking when the ads come up, which no doubt is something to do with girls gone wild and you know that your man doesn’t watch that kind of show, you move back into his eyesight and make out like the zipper on your dress is caught.
He has two options. Option one would be to completely ignore you and ask when you are going to bed. Option two is he is going to get up from the couch, motion with a finger for you to turn around, delicately of course and he will slowly begin to unzip your dress. All the while running a finger from the nape of your neck, down over your shoulder before following the trail of the zipper until his hand is inside your dress, clasping your hip through your petticoat. Breathing into your ear that sends shivers down your spine while making goosebumps erupt, you glance up over your shoulder and see the hunger in his eyes.
You move into position four which is where you play the seductress and virgin all rolled into one. Taking in a breath and while still holding his gaze, you let the straps to the dress that you were holding against your chest go until they rest around your waist. You stare at him with some concealed defiance while his gaze drops to stare at your petticoat covered breasts.
Which now are moving forcibly under the fabric due to your increased breathing. In the second, he is yours and position five in thrown out the door when he grabs hold of you and thrusts you up against the wall while positioning his leg between yours. As he places his lips against the pulse at the bottom of jaw while letting out a moan, you grab hold of his incredibly broad shoulders and throw your head back.
As you make out like the zipper on your dress is caught, your husband glances up from the television screen and looks at you. He then places his empty coffee cup on the coaster that lines the table, strategically placed because he is notorious for putting them on the floor near the couch and motions with a finger to turn around. You realise as you slowly turn around to present your back to him that you have successfully outsmarted your husband.
And even though that Santa gave your husband to you, in my case: On the second day of Christmas, Santa gave to me the ability to seduce my readers.
With that, I am sitting here in the kitchen with the steady hum of the dishwasher, the musical sounds coming from the television as Dirty Dancing graces my house and the image of my house mate’s Mum dancing in her seat. However before Otis Redding starts flooding the speakers and my hair starts whipping from side to side, I am silently dancing in my seat and murmuring, “I carried a watermelon”.
Clearly, I have seen this movie too many times but as I see it, who can’t resist a naked Patrick? In other news, I enjoyed the silence that I had when everyone left me and the house to ourselves. I can honestly say that I did not know if I should go Risky Business and throw on some Bob while dancing around in my undies. Which are not whitey tighties and socks while singing into a hairbrush. Or if I should stand there for what seems like an hour in the middle of my kitchen, listening to nothing. And yet that was enough for me before I started clanging away with the pots and pans as I started cooking dinner.
Least to say, in my head it tasted great but when it came to actually eating it, I pretty much lied to myself. Every mouthful was like torture but still, I was hungry so I basically shut my brain up and ate it like I wouldn’t have another meal for a week. As I can hear my grandmother say in my head as she fluffs around the kitchen doing Neapolitans and beating the cream, ‘beggar’s cannot be choosers, my dear’. Now that makes me think about buying some puff, cream and icing my heart with sugar. Just call me Julia Childs.
And as always, I shall see you tomorrow.
Until next time,