Back when Tom was still here, we took a trip to the beach.
We slept in this room.
I know. Very Leave It To Beaver huh?
The thing is, I didn’t mind so much. It meant I could sleep without having to worry about Tom shifting around.
Tom took one look at the room and bluntly said, “What about the sex?”
“We’re at the beach, who is thinking about sex?” I joked. I just wanted to dip my feet in the ocean and lounge by the water. (This never happened though. When you have children there really is no such thing as lounging.)
The problem with two beds like that is, when your husband starts snorting you can’t just kick him to shut him up. No, you have to shout, “Cut it out!” And sometimes that doesn’t work so then you have to get out of bed (cold floors!) and smack him over the face with your pillow. Then when he’s all, “The eff was that?” you can feign stupidity and be like, “What was what?” while thinking, “It worked, he’s not snoring anymore!”
Tom also made s’mores while we were at the beach. He started digging a hole to start the fire and I went, “Let’s pretend we’re on Survivor!”
“No,” Tom answered.
“Oh come on. You’d be a good contestant. Your name can be Kurt and you can be some dude in special forces and—”
“Why the hell is my name Kurt? Why can’t I just be Tom?”
“Because we’re imagining!”
“I don’t imagine.”
Boring old Tom.
But he did make an awesome fire so we could have s’mores. I had like five of them. Tom had none because he’s strange and doesn’t like s’mores and wouldn’t pretend to be Kurt.
“You have chocolate all over your face,” Tom told me as he put out the fire.
“All around your mouth and I’m not sure how it got there, but on your forehead.” Tom leaned over and wiped the chocolate on my forehead off. “You’re the messiest eater I’ve ever met.”
“But you love me!”
“You smell like a giant chocolate bar.” Tom made a face.
“The best smell ever!”