Thursday, February 08, 2007

Love is a Battlefield.

This blog is on a slippery slope, a soapy slope. This blog is moving from blog to BlogOpera with revelations coming at you in installments growing ever closer in time.

Yesterday my wife was convinced the passionate and possibly murderous -- the case is still in courts; let us not prejudge -- lady astronaut had been maddened by the physical act of love in high earth orbit, for did not the poet write?

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds...and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of...
Where never lark, nor even eagle flew.
And while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space...
...put out my hand, and touched...

My dear, it's none of our business what you touched.

But as it turned out, as my wife discovered, nothing happened in outer space because passionate lady astronaut and charismatic male astronaut were never "in orbit" together. (Ah, the ironic and euphemistic power of the "short quote.")

Well, heck, my wife decided, the lady astronaut must have fallen victim to that amazing musky man odor some men have. That was it. Earthly close quarters were probably enough. Catnip = musky man smell.

Huh? I said.

Oh yeah, she said. And today she sent me this cryptic message.


this explains it!


Mmm, sweaty! Women aroused by male scent
For women, apparently there's nothing like the smell of a man's sweat.

Okay, so the note wasn't all that cryptic.

But now what to do?

Close the windows and turn up the heat? Even though it's a work night??

As I said. Love is a battlefield, and marriage (apparently) a marathon.

(Oh: Memo to OSHA: Go to wife's workplace. Knock down walls.)

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