Yesterday afternoon calls a cousin of mine, from Switzerland. She talks and talks and forces me to shut up and listen over the phone. Boring female chatter. At one point she makes the mistake to tell me about how she has to go to fitness. She’s in her mid fifties. And I seize the moment! “Aha, fitness! Yeah, you gotta stay fit and throw a striptease to your man every evening when he returns from work, tired.”
Even if taking care of the tired working man is a top priority on most wives’ agendas, giving him a striptease “every evening” is not. And even if it would be, occasionally, you won’t hear a wife genuinely talking about this.
She halted from her daunting cruising of word-streams my way and, past a long moment of silence, she fought back. “Is Doris giving you a striptease every day?” I didn’t leave her the expected time to rejoice after the spear-like question and naturally answered that yes, every morning, to be more specific. Silence again. Then her voice turned bit nervous. “Give me Doris, wanna speak to her. Is she around?” Sure do. I knock the window for Doris to hear as she made herself busy gardening in the backyard.
I didn’t tell Doris what we’ve been talking about so I could see her face flushing at the abrupt question “Do you strip for Don every day?” My lovely and honest pink bunny says: “I do. I’d lie to you if saying otherwise.”
I dunno what my cousin said to this but I could sense the dreaded cruising female chatter flooding the phone line again. Blah, blah, blah… Yadda, yadda, yadda…
I know my cousin, she’s a fine gal who takes care of her man. Most likely she strips for him once in a while. Now she has to admit it, and maybe strip more often, why not every evening?