A Private Affair

I drove home slowly, careful to avoid the many potholes that spoil our streets, and, on arriving, parked in the driveway.

When I opened the trunk of the car, I was not surprised to find my wife inside. After all, I’d put her there. What may surprise you, however, was the expression of intense delight on her face.

“Woof,” she said.

“Yes, of course,” I replied, “coffee sounds like a wonderful idea. Let’s go inside and I’ll put the kettle on.”

She bounded to the ground as if she hadn’t spent the last half hour in the cramped confines of a rattly old car sucking on exhaust fumes, and the hour before that running madly around the nearest thing we have to countryside in the middle of London. Honestly, the energy and zest she has for life just astounds me.

After I’d closed up the car, unlocked and opened the back door and let us in, I stepped inside and plonked my bag down on the counter, heeling the door shut before locking it behind us. I then headed for the kitchen. My wife, as usual, had already pushed past me and was heading for the living room. I could hear the squeak of the sofa springs as she circled around looking for that perfect spot. I filled the kettle: one dish’s worth of water for her and one cup’s worth for me.

Kettles, generally, only click off when the water inside has finished boiling, but my wife can’t stand her coffee that hot, so I’d had to devise some method of stopping it before it reached that point. I’d tried many options, but I won’t bore you with them because my ultimate solution was nothing short of ingenious, even if I say so myself.

Here’s what I did: I switched the kettle on as normal, then I took the rubber glove out of the drawer under the counter where I always keep it.

Actually, when I say it’s a rubber glove, that’s not completely true. As Jehbco puts it: “natural rubber, with the chemical name polyisopropene, is produced naturally from the sap of the rubber tree. Silicone, on the other hand, is a synthetic material.” I just like to call it rubber because it reminds me fondly of my first wife. But don’t you dare call me sentimental or I’ll bite your nose straight off your face. One must have boundaries!

So, yes: back to the rubber glove.

Without rushing the affair, I carefully put the glove on, ensuring that my finger and thumb tips were pushed right to the very end of each space. When that was done, I turned the kettle off.

You see, by a meticulous process of elimination I’d found that this exercise, when properly conducted, allows sufficient time for the water to reach the optimal temperature for my wife’s delicate mouth. I know, I know: it’s a little onerous. But let me assure you of this: she’s worth it.

I’ll not burden you with the rest of the description of the process of making coffee for two because I’m sure you must already be sufficiently versed in this aspect of the minutiae of domestic bliss. Suffice to say, we both relaxed afterwards on the sofa whilst enjoying our coffee, and the time spent respectively sipping and lapping at our beverages was ultimately the gateway to a wonderful evening.

And there I must close the curtain on our little scene and bid you adieu. The rest, as you must imagine, was inherently a very private affair.

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Thanks to Marla for the challenge: https://marladragon.wordpress.com/2023/01/23/challenge-for-january-23-2023/

Thanks to Bogdan for the inspiration: https://gobblersmasticadores.wordpress.com/2022/05/18/transgressive-fiction-needs-to-make-a-comeback-by-bogdan-dragos/

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