My wife had told my father-in-law once, when she was a teen, coming in to see them holding hands in their easy chairs, watching TV: You guys are boring.
He said back to her, "I hope someday you find someone to be this boring with. That's a father's wish for his daughter."
I'm sitting here smoking Molto Dolce in a Duke, since I don't have much time. It's her favorite tobacco. Smells like chocolate cake freshly frosting'd while still hot, oozing with carmel and nuts.
She's picking up something for us to eat. It was that or go out, and we're both two tired to waste time in a restaurant, waiting to be served, waiting to place an order, waiting for our food, waiting to pay the bill.
We're anxious to be boring.
When she comes home, we'll fix up plates of whatever she picked up, probably salads with roast chicken on top. We'll pour drinks of spiced rum and diet coke, too strong. And we'll eat in our easy chairs watching a Netflix series.
As plates empty, her hand will reach for mine, and I'll probably fall asleep in my chair, drink only half drunk. She push me because I'm snoring. I'll protest when she turns off the episode in the middle, saying I'm not sleeping. Let's finish it. But she'll wag her head.
Then I'll crawl into my bed next to her and it will be a contest who goes to sleep first.
I wish all of you, even the younger fellas here, the same blessed, boring life.
It's perfect contentment, the happiest I've been ever. I'm pretty sure.
Good night.
He said back to her, "I hope someday you find someone to be this boring with. That's a father's wish for his daughter."
I'm sitting here smoking Molto Dolce in a Duke, since I don't have much time. It's her favorite tobacco. Smells like chocolate cake freshly frosting'd while still hot, oozing with carmel and nuts.
She's picking up something for us to eat. It was that or go out, and we're both two tired to waste time in a restaurant, waiting to be served, waiting to place an order, waiting for our food, waiting to pay the bill.
We're anxious to be boring.
When she comes home, we'll fix up plates of whatever she picked up, probably salads with roast chicken on top. We'll pour drinks of spiced rum and diet coke, too strong. And we'll eat in our easy chairs watching a Netflix series.
As plates empty, her hand will reach for mine, and I'll probably fall asleep in my chair, drink only half drunk. She push me because I'm snoring. I'll protest when she turns off the episode in the middle, saying I'm not sleeping. Let's finish it. But she'll wag her head.
Then I'll crawl into my bed next to her and it will be a contest who goes to sleep first.
I wish all of you, even the younger fellas here, the same blessed, boring life.
It's perfect contentment, the happiest I've been ever. I'm pretty sure.
Good night.
