I think it’s important to do something completely unnecessary every once in awhile. If only to break up the monotony. Or, in its finer forms, to cheer somebody up.
The other day Liz was upset about something, I don’t honestly remember what it was, and she probably wouldn’t want me saying if I did, but I got something to eat, retired to the bedroom, rooted through her drawers and found a nice pink bra and a black spaghetti-strap camisole and put them on, went out to the kitchen and stood next to her at the table and put my arm around her and told how her pretty she looked.
I admit, it isn’t the first time I have dressed in her undergarments. Every once in awhile she needs cheered up, and struttin’ around the apartment in a bra and a black lacy top (when I am the one wearing them) is kind of like daring her to stay in a bad mood. Daring her not to laugh. It’s a challenge where she has yet to triumph.
Liz is, shall we say, full. About the features. So I don’t even have to stuff the bra. It’s ready to carry lead, if need be. It’s sturdy. And it’s shapely without anything in it.
I must say, I have it pretty easy. Some guys have to yell at the tv, or chase a dog, or bark at trees, to break up the monotony. All I gotta do is throw on her bra and a silky top and it gets her every time. She’s mine.
So, I make the sacrifice every once in awhile.
Though I do draw the line at wearing her underwear.
That’s too much.
That’s just offensive.
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