A Midsummers' Night Evening

It was a hot electric night, all of heaven taking a dump on my sandy acre, making ponds of the large depressions dug into my dirt road. The essence of flashbulbs in my face heralded the sonic thrust that battered the escort wagon as she bravely took to her task of getting me home alive, despite the one bald tires' attempts to hydroplane us into the other lane or altogether off the road. I arrived home and spent a few minutes strategically jockeying the car into a spot not flooded and thus kept my feet dry as I gingerly made my way to the steps and up into the double-wide wonder which I call home.
The wife, having gotten home earlier, had prepared a sumptuous feast of baked talapia, baked potatoes, corn and a salad, which according to my low brow tastes carefully developed over years of low budgets, was a feast fit for Gods, and since in THIS trailer I AM Lord, was fit for me. The wife would demote me a few notches to mere husband, but would do so with much love in her heart, for a mere husband has loved her dearly, and this has made her happy. Happy wife means happy husband, at least in my experience. Other definitions need not apply.
Upon completion of said culinary experience, I call forth the power of Imac, the Apple of my heart, the bearer of blogs and other good tidings, as well as a guide thru the minefield of broadcast television, which, as is most affordable, has become our opium of choice. Of course, the only new thing is Rock Star INXS, so we skip around the channels till it makes it's appearance, we watch it's half hour of how one becomes lead singer wisdom, then skip around thru re-runs again, both of us naked on the couch to add to the thrill of our exciting lives. Three flies keep us entertained as we seek to destroy these evil invaders of our magical realm, and with much frustration of trying to zero in on tiny dark dots which MUST die, we give up on the TV and run a bath, another one of those economical lifestyle activities we love so much to share, relaxing our sore muscles together in the relaxing nectar of the Gods: Hot Water.
By the time we've had our dose of aquatic nirvana, the clock has advanced to the zone of retreat, that retreat from awareness we both must take in order to give our brains a much needed respite from the horrors of our day. I make my rounds about the castle, insuring all lights are out, the entries are barred, and the dog is stationed at our bedroom door, ready to ward off the possum that sometimes visits the outside cat's food bowl in the night. We are hoping he gives equal attention to the burglar who would dare test our sanctum, at least waking us with his zeal to meet this new and unknown stranger attempting to break thru the door. I realize this canine friend of ours may not rise to the occasion with much ferocity, but I do know my Walther PPK/s will, thus I take to our bed with some measure of security.
We each adjust our electronic herald to our own personal times of awakening, and as I turn out the lights, she lays on her side and prepares to accept her soul mate to her back, in that cuddle which has been perfected by 13 years of not one night missed apart save one. We have that down pat. We fit together well considering our differing heights, but like they say, it's all good on the horizontal plain. I meld with her for the requisite five minutes or so, as she drifts off and my mind winds down, my leg between hers, my hand lovingly cupping a breast, and then I ease out to return to my side of the bed, the side that I command for myself, which I occupy upon my stomach, an arm thrust beneath my pillow, a leg hung out to the side. Perchance I dream, but the night claims me in it's dark embrace, and in what seems like the passing of a rapid minute, the alarm jerks me back to my drudge, and a new, same as the last day begins again.