Stickler for Symmetry

Sorry for the radio silence this last week.

OK, not really.

See, I’ve been enjoying a week off. A week of freedom and laziness and the freedom to do nothing but be lazy! With my hubby! It’s been heavenly.

Unfortunately, it also means I’ve been neglecting y’all. I was thinkig about doing RTT…until I realized it was Thursday. Oops!

I have nothing coherant to say about current events, and they’ve been pretty boring anyway, so I’ll share this amusing anectode (anyone else think of Weird Al in Albequerque when they hear that phrase?). I’ve been meaning to write up this story since it happened several weeks ago..just hadn’t sat down and done it. So, without futher ado:

I am anal retentive. And shameless about it. I’m not anal retentive about everything. But about certain things. Like symmetry. And patterns. A wee bit Obsessively OCD.

You know the opening scene of Monk? Around 39 seconds where he walks out the front door? First time I saw that it drove me up the freaking wall because clearly the umbrellas weren’t symmetrical. In the single second before he turns around and comes back in and fixes it, I’d run through several possible configurations that would work better. I actually slumped with the release of tension when he turned the damn rogue umbrella around.



The other night I’m getting ready for bed. Walking across the room in my panties to get to the restroom and brush my teeth and stuff. My hubby is blocking the path doing his own thing, fully clothed, and, as he so often does, doesn’t realize me standing in his personal space looking expectantly at him is a cue for him to get out of the darn way!


So I stand there for a long minute, making eye contact, waiting for him to step aside so I can get through. Without breaking eye contact and with no precursor to his movement his hand suddenly flashes up, lightening quick, out of nowhere, and squeezes my right breast.

I let out a little squeal, jump back, and stare at him in shock, with my mouth literally hanging open, my hands covering the poor, offended boobie.

He grins.


I stare at him for another minute, mouth catching flies, until the internal war in me between shock and order is suddenly resolved. My expression goes to normal, I drop my hands, step back up and say, “OK, now do the other one.”

Because, you see, they were uneven. And I cannot, cannot, live with uneven sensations like that!

He starts laughing and (happily) complies.

All being right with the world, I start to walk past…and his hand flashes out an grabs my right breast again. He grins at me expectantly.

I look at him in annoyance, and turn back so he can make things even.

He looks at me, big grin still on his face, and says thoughtfully, “You know, all I have to do is not touch the other one, and it’ll bother you all night. You’ll wake up in the morning desperate for me!”

I glared at him, shock battling fury, inwardly horrified at the idea that he might leave me, *cough,* hanging all night.

I’m happy to report he did even things out for me. Before bed.

(Probably because he knew I’d keep him up all night whining if he didn’t.)

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