Conversations Between Adults
“We’re not watching basketball!” She was standing in the kitchen warming up the food even though neither one of us needed another plate. We were eating just because it was there.
“What’s the matter with basketball?” I hid the remote behind my back.
“Ummmmm. Beyonce is on!!!” She said that really loud like I was supposed to care, I mean, Beyonce was fine, but she couldn’t dunk a basketball.
“I don’t really care that Beyonce is on, you don’t like her anyway! All you’re going to do is talk about her, hater!”
“Since I’m such a hater, how about you come in here and fix your own plate and what’s the fun in watching someone on TV if you can’t hate a little. It’s not like I’m doing it around anyone but you.” I stood up and stretched.
“You never know, I could know Beyonce.”
She smiled, “And I could know Denzel or Prince William but I don’t!”
She walked in carrying the two plates; I grabbed some paper towels and forks and a bottle of wine. I have no idea why we got so much Chinese food but since it was my first night off in awhile and she this was her cheat night it was all good.
No sex tonight.
“I’m serious Allen, we aren’t watching football! OKC SUCKS!!! They aren’t winning this series without that fine African guy and Kevin Durant is too skinny to be Jordan!” She was really passionate about trying to watch Beyonce.
“Who cares about Beyonce’s 105th television special?! Does she ever take a break; don’t you get tired of seeing her on Awards Shows?! If I’m not mistaken, you’re the one that told me you get tired of her.”
She put her plate on the coffee table and just stared at me like this conversation was just that serious.
“I care and since I made the plates and called the food in, we’re going to watch what I want! Now where’s the remote boy!?”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute!!!” I couldn’t stop laughing.
“You took food out of a container and put it on a plate, you can’t take credit for that.” I poked her in the chest.
“But someone had to unwrap the food, put it on paper plates, warm it up and all the other stuff. You weren’t trying to do it; you’re too busy trying to watch stupid basketball! NOW GIVE ME THE REMOTE! I’M NOT PLAYING WITH YOU!” She was really getting mad, it was cute.
“If I don’t give the remote, what are you going to do? You can’t beat me up.”
My plate was snatched out my hand with viciousness!
“GET OFF ME GIRL! GET OFF ME!” She jumped in my lap and started tickling my sides and yes I was a grown man that was ticklish.
“ARE WE WATCHING B?! ARE WE WATCHING B!? WHERE’S THE REMOTE ALLEN?! WHERE’S THE REMOTE!?”
“OK! OK!” I reached behind my back and handed her the remote. She jumped up and down like she’d just knocked me out in a Championship fight.
So for the next forty five minutes we ate ourselves into a coma and watched Beyonce on ABC. I can’t even lie, it was cool as hell, but I would never tell her that. I listened to her talk about the poor girl like she’d stolen her purse or something.
“Now, can we please catch the end of the game?” She threw me the remote.
“No problem baby.”
“DAMN GIRL! Look at what you’ve made me miss! San Antonio is beating the hell out of them.” She finished off the wine bottle.
“They’re not going to win, you wanna bet?”
“You hate gambling.” She went and got two Limearitas out the fridge.
“Who said anything about money? It’s obvious we are both beat from all the running around today but we can’t leave the kitchen dirty.”
“So we’re betting to see who’s going to clean the kitchen?”
“Of course, but that’s no fun by itself. So this is the deal. The loser has to clean the kitchen, run the winner some bath water and bathe them and has to pleasure the winner before bed. No kissing, no “my turn!” Just straight head to the victor, are you down?”
“So let me get this straight, if I win, I get to watch SportsCenter while you clean up the kitchen, give me a bath and then I get a blow job. If I “lose,” I have to wash a couple of dishes, play with you in the water and then do something I would have done tonight anyway?”
I turned the volume on the game up, “I’m down!”
Twenty minutes later the game was over and you would have sworn she belonged on ESPN as a special commentator.
She slapped me on the ass and jumped on the couch, holding the remote like it was a Gold Medal. My baby was such a sore winner but I guess that’s just another thing I loved about her.
I washed the dishes, wiped off the counter and stove, mopped the floor and put up the food. I cleaned up the bathroom, changed the sheets on the bed and ran her bath water. Bath salts and lots of steam and bubbles but not too hot. I knew she hated sleeping in panties or clothes period so I grabbed a towel and her robe and laid everything out.
I walked back in the living room and I already knew what I would see. She was on the couch knocked out, holding onto the remote for dear life. I just stood in the doorway and watched her sleep. A pair of fitted purple sweats on, a white tank top. Pail pink toe nail polish.
I picked her up and carried her to the bed, “You know you still lost the bet baby.” She was talking but half sleep.
“I know, I’ll pay up tomorrow.”
“Okay, I love you Allen.”
“I love you too.”
I didn’t bother taking off my jeans or t-shirt or even my light sweater. We didn’t even get under the covers. I got in the bed behind her and wrapped my arms around her while we fell asleep to the sound of the night.