Love in the time of flu season

 

escargots-243303_640Note to my children: Stop reading here.

A little hint about ON SECOND THOUGHT here… I really loved writing certain scenes that (cough) involved (cough) sexy time. While I’m as game as anyone for the “not quite perfect” scenes—I always get a little giggly when the stars collide, blindness occurs, headboards break and people shatter—I do want to feel a certain tingly sensation when reading about sexy time.

Which brings me to my own life.

When in doubt, insert picture of a chicken.

When in doubt, insert picture of a chicken.

It’s winter. We’re in New England. It could very well be that in a certain writer’s house, pillow talk has degraded to something like the following.

“Hang on, I have to cough.”

“Don’t kiss me above the collarbone. I may have consumption.”

“Hang on, I have to cough again.”

What? We're hardly destroying anything!

What? We’re hardly destroying anything!

“Dogs! Knock it off!”

“Hold on, hold on, let me take a hit of my inhaler and we can get back to this.”

“One sec, I have to cough.”

“Oh, jeesh, the cat again. He’s such a pervert. Get out, Huck!”

“I haven’t shaved my legs in 2017. Sorry.”

“My lungs are squeaking. Are my lips blue? Not yet? Good. Carry on!”

Props to my husband for thinking an unshowered, bed-headed, not entirely healthy middle-aged woman is worth the effort.

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