My husband slaps my backside with gusto. SMACK!
"You're a pain in my ass, Saukerl!" I laugh.
"Make out with me," he says as he wraps his tree trunk arms around my waist. In his arms I am Thumbelina The Tiny.
My hands are full with Easter ham, mashed potatoes, and 8 hungry children.
"Back off, Junior," I say wearing my new Easter dress. I purchased it at a store that sells actual new clothes and not the vintage kind with ghosts attached. I could use a break from ghosts.
He pretends to be wounded. Or maybe he really is wounded. I pretend he is pretending and get back to the task at hand.
I have forced my husband to join me on this Easter trip to Las Vegas. We are visiting my sister and her 4 monkeys. We add our own four monkeys to the pot. Stir until bubbling with excitement. Serve hot, sweaty and happy.
I have an itinerary.
Easter Egg hunt.
I need my husband desperately this weekend.
I need him to crack the whip on these young monsters. (I am permissive and easy going to a fault when it comes to children. They run me over regularly.)
I need him to hide Easter eggs in strange places.
I need him to fill my sister's house with missing testosterone. (As he has an abundance of the stuff.)
I need him to sleep on the couch without complaining. (He only complains a little.) I sleep (as I always do) in a comfy King-sized bed with sis. The children are scattered to and fro, mostly fro, on floors and beds and mattresses.
My alpha male is strong. Proud. Tender. Thoughtful. Helpful. Stubborn. Accommodating. Intense. Physical. Possessive. Fierce in Love. Powerful. Mine.
I am proud to call him Mine. I am proud he slaps my ass with gusto regularly. (It only stings a little. I revel in the sting.) In doing so claims me His.