Saturday, 22 July 2006

Thunder and tennis lessons

Did you hear the thunder last night?

J and I were asleep with the window and curtains open in the stifling heat.

I woke from flashes of light, and thought our mad neighbours might be having a photosession in the garden.
Shelli likes halters; I have a teal version
But it was lighting. Constant, like the red carpet ahead of the Oscars.

I couldn't hear any thunder yet as it was so far away, but the air was icy and you could smell the rain coming. I love that smell, of wet dust and parched earth turning into mud.

I thought I'd managed to avoid waking J, as he was sleeping with his back towards me and the window, until he suddenly reached out for my hand and squeezed it.

"I think the thunder is coming," he said.

His hand was warm and dry, but his belly slightly damp from the sheets and the heat when I stroked it.

So we lay there, hand in hand in the dark, only lit up by the lighting, and the thunder came closer and closer, almost inaudible at first, but then louder and louder, almost constant.

But it didn't pass overhead. It passed about 5km from where we were judging by the sounds of it, and it didn't rain.

I lay awake until the lighting and the thunder were almost 15 seconds apart, and then I drifted off. It was a lovely way to spend an hour in the middle of the night.

I made us a smoothie for breakfast.

In the afternoon, J gave me a free-of-charge tennis lesson (I think he learnt most of his tips from watchin Wimbledon just a bit too much, but as a lower-middle-class child whose family could never afford pony riding lessons, ballet lessons, violin lessons etc, I can dream away about being daddy's little spoilt girl on the court).

An added bonus was that J has to bend over to pick up all the tennis balls I fail to hit correctly, meaning I get a good long look at his ass every five minutes.

Sometimes he's just wonderful.

Like today when we were driving along the M4 in the downpour, me with my feet on the dashboard (he likes to stroke my legs while driving, which I suspect is not very traffic safety friendly).

We realised we both like "Hotel California", and he doesn't mind if I sing at the top of my voice in the car.

In line with the later tennis lesson, we went to see a mutual friend earlier for a pool-and-cake party, and he was swimming around in the pool and squirting the others with a super soaker.

A year ago he would barely take off his shirt in public because he was so shy. Sometimes I really think there might be a way forward.

And before the cake party, he spent all morning with me in department stores, looking for accessories for the lovely dress I bought for the first of this summer's wedding parties.

No complaints, he was happily contented with reading the Guardian Sports section while waiting, and only wanted an M&S eccles cake as a reward (not realising what an enormous OD of sugar the cake party would turn into later).

Only a few more days at work before he whisks me off to the countryside for the wedding... and some sexy games in a chinzy B&B, if my cervix allows.

Life is sometimes quite great, you know. Maybe he even actually loves me.

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1 comment:

  1. That's a really pretty dress!

    I suppose I'm "bandying the term" as you put it. There are some things that make me more than a little cranky if they don't go the way that I think they should, like make my heart feel like it's going to jump out of my chest, but it's gotten a lot better over the past few years.

    Anyway, I hate the limescale thing on dishes too! The hubs is such a farm boy (well water out here does NOTHING for cleaning, and that's all you can get on a farm) that he looks at me crosseyed when I take twice as long to wash dishes as he does.

    Thanks for stopping by! I hope you'll come back. :)


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