Humour

Power Corrupts. Absolute Power Corrupts Absolutely. (But Also: It’s AWESOME)

                                          

                Adam trying to plead his way out of seven days of servitude.  REQUEST DENIED.

I turn 28 in 34 days, NO BIG DEAL. (Kind of a big deal actually, start shopping)

“But Madeleine,” you say, “I had no idea you were so ancient! Isn’t 28 a little too old to be publishing a personal diary on a server that caters primarily to teenaged girls re-blogging sparkly pictures and love poems?”

SHUT UP! You’re not my mom!

Ahem. Moving on. Last night I explored the mysterious world of having your husband do what you tell him to, and guys, It. Was. AWESOME. Do some of you live like this all the time?! Tell me your stories!

I came home from work at about 9:30, we watched a little Community, and then I decided I wanted to have a bath.

“Oh minion!” I called, (I’ve started calling him minion again because, well, I can.) “Can you run me a bath?”

And he did! I hope you’ll notice that I’ve stuck with requests, instead of direct orders, even though technically he is contractually obligated to do whatever I ask.  I’m not a complete monster (actually I might be. Read the rest of this post and then decide)

A few minutes later, as I luxuriated in the tub reading Steve Martin’s An Object of Beauty, it became really difficult to continue. 

You see, in order to keep reading the book, I had to keep my hands dry, it being a library book and all (I don’t want to get fined 10 cents! I’m not MADE of money y’all!) but keeping my hands dry meant that they were also kind of chilly while the rest of my hard-working self soaked in a steaming cesspool of lavender and eucalyptus scented water.

I initially called Adam over to hold my book for me while I read, and then I was like – woah, Madeleine, what are you doing?

Why are you reading this yourself when you could have him read it to you!?

Obviously.

So I lay in the bath, submerged up to my chin, while Adam lent his dulcet tones to Martins thickly worded prose, narrating the story of Lacey Yeager sleeping her way to the top of the New York art scene.

I didn’t think it could get any better. And then I got a craving for popcorn.

What to do, what to DO?

I didn’t want to have to get out, dry myself off, pop the popcorn, melt obscene amounts of butter, only pour half onto the popcorn, wonder “Who am I kidding?”, pour the rest, then return to the bath- that’s just so much work! I got tired just thinking about it.

If only I had someone who could do it fo- OH WAIT.

Guys, Adam made me popcorn and brought it to me in the bath!

I’m not even 28 yet and I’m spending my evenings eating delicious popcorn in a toasty hot bath, being read to by a hot babe. I’M LIVING THE DREAM!

Either that of I’ve crossed some sort of moral/ethical/hygienic line, but you know what? I DON’T CARE. This shit is awesome.

I’m going to spend my whole day coming up with ways to make tonight even more enjoyable, neck rubs while blogging? Dinner ready when I come home from work? Him brushing Gus’ teeth for a change? The possibilities are endless!

This is going to be the best week of my life.

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