men.”
“She’s insignificant,” Grandma sniffs as she pushes her reading glasses up her nose and stares at printed pages. “Do you know what this is, Blobber?”
“An excerpt from my blob?”
“Five forty five.”
“Ah, it’s your weight analysis,” I respond while dipping bread in egg batter.
“It’s your credit score.”
Nosy little nit.
“Right. So?”
“You’re behind on mortgage payments and you have four maxed-out credit cards.”
“I also have a hairy mole on my ass,” I respond while glaring at her.
“My granddaughter will soon realize you’re marrying her to get your hands on my money. She’ll dispose of you like dryer lint.”
“I’m marrying her because I love her, and I’ll gladly sign a pre-nup.”
“Why don’t you accept the offer from Chris, pay off your debts, and find a more appropriate mate—perhaps one with four legs.”
“You two will never buy me off. Stop wasting your time.”
“Warm up my coffee, and flip those before they burn.”
I endure breakfast with the beast as I hear the shower turn off and wait for my love to rescue me.
“I must admit, you’re a decent cook. I could put in a word for you at Denny’s,” Grandma remarks.
“How kind of you.”
As Bea emerges from the bedroom in her silk robe, Grandma rises to leave. Naturally, she places my credit report in front of Bea on her way out.
“Have a wonderful morning. Bea, your future ex isn’t a bad cook at all. He’ll make someone a nice housewife someday,” Grandma remarks as she exits.
“You made her breakfast? You’re such a sweetie,” Bea compliments as she crumbles the credit report, tosses it in the garbage, and checks the pan. “Ooh, French toast. Are these for me?”
“They are.”
“And, I see you found the syrup,” she teases as she dangles Mrs. Butterworth between her thumb and index finger. “I love syrup.”
“Do you know what I’m going to do with that syrup later?”
“Pancakes?”
I take the bottle from her, squeeze a dot on my left index finger, and place it in her mouth. She sucks the tip, teasingly. I slide my finger down her chin, over her neck, and down her chest, parting her robe as I do. Bea tips her head back. I squeeze a bit more between her breasts and let it run a bit before catching the sugary stream with my tongue and planting a sweet kiss on her soft lips.
“I’m going to coat you and lick you to nirvana.”
Chapter Three
In the arithmetic of love, one plus one equals everything, and two minus one equals nothing. – Mignon McLaughlin
On my way home, Bea’s assistant, Eric, calls to invite me to lunch. He refuses to tell me his motive over the phone. Maybe I can scarf more of those little yellow pills to help keep up with my sexual dynamo.
I get a few more blog entries done and meet Eric at the San Diego County Fair. Hmm, beer battered chocolate covered bacon for lunch? Sure, why not? You only die once. I hope he’s not a fan of rides, as my stomach has never appreciated them.
“Big E, what’s happening?”
“Good to see you, Mormon,” he greets while giving me the handshake, shoulder-bump man-hug.” Let’s hit the food court. I’m starving.”
“Me, too.”
“So, I wasn’t sure if Bea told you, but she has asked me to walk her down the aisle Saturday, and I wanted to make sure you’re cool with that.”
“Dude, of course I am. You know, she rarely speaks about her parents.”
“She was twelve when they had the accident. Her grandmother and various nannies raised her.”
“Well, she turned out perfectly crazy, and I’m absolutely crazy about her. I just wish there were some way to win over Grandma and make Chris disappear.”
“I’m sure it will work out. Love conquers all, Mormon. Ooh, and speaking of love,” Eric beams as a handsome fellow approaches; “here comes my man, Daniel.”
We greet and stroll around the Fair, sampling the artery cloggery that abounds.
“So, gentlemen, I’d like to
“She’s insignificant,” Grandma sniffs as she pushes her reading glasses up her nose and stares at printed pages. “Do you know what this is, Blobber?”
“An excerpt from my blob?”
“Five forty five.”
“Ah, it’s your weight analysis,” I respond while dipping bread in egg batter.
“It’s your credit score.”
Nosy little nit.
“Right. So?”
“You’re behind on mortgage payments and you have four maxed-out credit cards.”
“I also have a hairy mole on my ass,” I respond while glaring at her.
“My granddaughter will soon realize you’re marrying her to get your hands on my money. She’ll dispose of you like dryer lint.”
“I’m marrying her because I love her, and I’ll gladly sign a pre-nup.”
“Why don’t you accept the offer from Chris, pay off your debts, and find a more appropriate mate—perhaps one with four legs.”
“You two will never buy me off. Stop wasting your time.”
“Warm up my coffee, and flip those before they burn.”
I endure breakfast with the beast as I hear the shower turn off and wait for my love to rescue me.
“I must admit, you’re a decent cook. I could put in a word for you at Denny’s,” Grandma remarks.
“How kind of you.”
As Bea emerges from the bedroom in her silk robe, Grandma rises to leave. Naturally, she places my credit report in front of Bea on her way out.
“Have a wonderful morning. Bea, your future ex isn’t a bad cook at all. He’ll make someone a nice housewife someday,” Grandma remarks as she exits.
“You made her breakfast? You’re such a sweetie,” Bea compliments as she crumbles the credit report, tosses it in the garbage, and checks the pan. “Ooh, French toast. Are these for me?”
“They are.”
“And, I see you found the syrup,” she teases as she dangles Mrs. Butterworth between her thumb and index finger. “I love syrup.”
“Do you know what I’m going to do with that syrup later?”
“Pancakes?”
I take the bottle from her, squeeze a dot on my left index finger, and place it in her mouth. She sucks the tip, teasingly. I slide my finger down her chin, over her neck, and down her chest, parting her robe as I do. Bea tips her head back. I squeeze a bit more between her breasts and let it run a bit before catching the sugary stream with my tongue and planting a sweet kiss on her soft lips.
“I’m going to coat you and lick you to nirvana.”
Chapter Three
In the arithmetic of love, one plus one equals everything, and two minus one equals nothing. – Mignon McLaughlin
On my way home, Bea’s assistant, Eric, calls to invite me to lunch. He refuses to tell me his motive over the phone. Maybe I can scarf more of those little yellow pills to help keep up with my sexual dynamo.
I get a few more blog entries done and meet Eric at the San Diego County Fair. Hmm, beer battered chocolate covered bacon for lunch? Sure, why not? You only die once. I hope he’s not a fan of rides, as my stomach has never appreciated them.
“Big E, what’s happening?”
“Good to see you, Mormon,” he greets while giving me the handshake, shoulder-bump man-hug.” Let’s hit the food court. I’m starving.”
“Me, too.”
“So, I wasn’t sure if Bea told you, but she has asked me to walk her down the aisle Saturday, and I wanted to make sure you’re cool with that.”
“Dude, of course I am. You know, she rarely speaks about her parents.”
“She was twelve when they had the accident. Her grandmother and various nannies raised her.”
“Well, she turned out perfectly crazy, and I’m absolutely crazy about her. I just wish there were some way to win over Grandma and make Chris disappear.”
“I’m sure it will work out. Love conquers all, Mormon. Ooh, and speaking of love,” Eric beams as a handsome fellow approaches; “here comes my man, Daniel.”
We greet and stroll around the Fair, sampling the artery cloggery that abounds.
“So, gentlemen, I’d like to
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