Just The Right Amount

It’s just another day in paradise. Her thoughts bemused her as the sun peaked over the hills and through her curtains. Once more she was awake early.

4:45 am.

Is insomnia just my burden to bear? she wondered. Or are there millions just like her, cracking the dawn hours before the alarm.

Her movements woke her husband and he moaned through an exaggerated arm stretch. She rolled over and laid her face against his shoulder.

“It’s early hon.” she whispered. “Please lie still and let me spoon you for a few minutes. I need to cuddle.”

He agreed. Within moments of repositioning his pillow he relaxed and she counted the 27 seconds it took him to return to nod.

Well, that was too easy, she mused.

She slid out of bed and padded softly down the hall to the kitchen. Lulling him back to sleep also meant that she assumed the job of barista. He usually brewed the first pot and offered her a cup with just the right amount of cream.

Now was a good time to check her E-mail and read her favorite web sites. Who am I kidding.If I sit down I’ll never get up. But she sat anyway.

There were the usual mail forwards that she’d already seen multiple times. She deleted those along with all the spam she’d been getting about Viagra and various other enhancing pills and procedures. That left just the messages from friends and family – the important stuff.

Then she saw a short message from an old boyfriend. Former, she chided herself. Old sounds ... well... too old.

His was one of the rekindled friendships with childhood school chums she’d made during the summer.

The message was short and caught her off guard. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately.”

She smiled and sat up straighter and affected a better posture - once a girl, always a girl – and searched her memories of 7^th grade. They’d been an item in a very innocent prepubescent sort of way.

I should have listened closer to the morning talk show about imprinting, she chastised herself. Some scientist claimed that properties from the chemistry of teenage romance were still accessible in the brains of older people. One of the reasons, he asserted, why Facebook was such an appealing phenomenon. You could connect with former lovers and relive those forgotten, but not lost, sensations.

“Snort.” She thought aloud about the science.

But she reconsidered. It felt kind of nice to know that someone from so long ago still has a special spot in his heart for her.

Thirty minutes later, still sitting at the computer, she heard her husband walk up behind her and felt his hand on her shoulder. The other hand held his mug of black coffee.

“Maybe you need some spooning every morning so you can get more sleep” she suggestively lifted one eyebrow and twirled her pajama covered shoulder. “I may be an old fart, but I’ve still got it. And, I even have an old boyfriend that still thinks about me.” (Darn, she’d used that word old again.)

She’d caught his attention, so she poured it on a little thicker to get a response.

“I can understand that,” he smiled the smile that accentuates his dimple. “I’ve been married to you for 32 years and I still like to think about you.” He ran his fingers through the fringe of hair tickling his ears.

She growled.“Thirty-three years mister, and don’t you forget that, and … don’t forget to remind me this evening to trim your hair!”

“Oh yeah! I do need a haircut.” He turned and walked away to see if there was anything in the cupboard for breakfast.

Such a jealous man, she reflected. Not.

Several days and the demands in her life kept her busy with other worries. But, the words of her old boyfriend returned when she corresponded with him once more.

“So, you’ve been thinking about me?” she couldn’t help herself.

“Yeah….I’ve been feeling really guilty.” He began.

Then he shared something that had been bothering him since he sat on her patio and talked about old times. (Old. Old. Old. Old. Enough already!)

Her countenance changed and she slumped slowly back into her chair as she listened to his story. A story about his years of disrespect and whispering behind the backs of people who were overweight.

He'd never thought about the obese as real people with circumstances that changed or made their bodies different. His revived relationship with her, he admitted, primed his conscience and he felt reprimanded for his lack of empathy and understanding.

“Inside, you are still the same person that I knew as a kid,” he said and she finished the sentence in her mind, but, your body has really changed... Yeah, tell me about it.


She probably agreed with him and maybe she even changed the subject. Maybe she remembers her euphoria falling;

Ker Splat.
Rhymes with Her Fat.

And... she was going to have to admit to her husband that she didn’t still have it,” after all.

The next morning found her awake much too early, sitting in the recliner. She’d moved to it sometime during the night. A night that she swore she saw the minute hand hand reach its destination every hour. Would a glass of wine or a couple of Benedryl ease this wakefulness, she wondered.

Sounds from the kitchen drew her attention along with the aroma of fresh ground brew.

“Hey,” she called to her man.

He peaked around the entry way and quipped “mornin!

“Remember what I told you about my old boyfriend,” she called.  She heard a short “yeah” of affirmation.

“Well...he was thinking about me because I got f-a-t.”

She heard the cupboard open but didn’t hear any response to her early morning confession.

Until he walked around the corner and declared, “He was probably shocked because in spite of that you are still beautiful.”

And then .... he handed her a cup of coffee with just the perfect amount of cream.