Monday Morning Rituals

I sat on the edge of the bathtub as Nate got ready for work. We were at the shaving part of his morning—my favorite bit—so I watched especially closely.

The whole shaving thing fascinates me. Apparently there's a proper way to do it, and Nate has it down to an art. But he's been shaving for over twenty years, so I guess that's par for the course.

He glanced at me through the mirror. "You're suspiciously quiet this morning."

I shrugged. "I'm thinking."

"What are you thinking about?" he asked with a long, graceful swipe of his razor.

"My blog." I paused to listen to the rasp-rasp of the blade gliding over his skin. "I don't know what to write about this week."

"Did you have any pithy conversations last week you can embellish and reproduce?"

"I never embellish."

He shot me a disbelieving look before he started on his neck. "Did anything noteworthy happen when you went out with Katie Saturday night?"

Pursing my lips, I thought about the guy who kept staring at us during our pre-dinner drink. He even moved closer to us—twice—but he didn't make a move. A relief and a disappointment at the same time, because I could have used the material. "No, nothing happened."

"You could write about how you played golf all last week because I made you take it off."

"And risk everyone calling you a curmudgeon for forcing me not to write?" I shook my head. "That's the last thing you'd want. Besides, I'm sure everyone's sick of hearing about golf. Even though it's really cool."

He turned the hot faucet on and rinsed the leftover bits of lather. Patting his face and neck dry, he turned to me. "Well, maybe something will happen this morning that you can write about."

"Maybe." I frowned as Nate took my hand, tugged me to standing, and escorted me out of the bathroom. "Where are we going?"

"To the next phase of the morning, where you sit on the bed while I get dressed."

I followed dutifully. Because that's me—a biddable woman. "Am I that predictable?"

"I wouldn't call it predictable," he replied diplomatically. "I'd say it's tradition. Just like you asking me what to blog about every Monday."

"Humph." I perched on the edge of the bed and pretended to be offended. Mostly, I was hoping my pouty lips would inspire him to kiss me.

He did. Then he looked me in the eye and said, "And don't write about me getting dressed."

I blinked, eyes wide. "I'd never do that. Some things are sacred."

Ruined

"Are you going to order dessert?" Nate asked me Saturday night after dinner.

I shrugged as I perused the menu. "The bread pudding looks good. I like bread pudding. They have cake too."

"And we all know how you feel about cake."

"Darn skippy." But then my eyes caught the last line of the menu, and I gasped. "Cupcake."

Nate pushed his menu aside. "I guess we know what you're ordering."

"I can't help my passion for cupcakes. It roots in my childhood." For my fifth birthday, our next door neighbor baked me Cookie Monster cupcakes to take to school. I can't remember the woman's name or what she looked like, but I remember the cupcakes perfectly. They were awesome—each one was a fluffy blue-icing'ed Cookie Monster peeking out from underneath a chocolate chip cookie. Googly eyes and all.

But, as tempted as I was, I stared at the menu item, torn. "What if it's no good? What if I'm disappointed? You know I have high standards."

"You can't live your life in fear of substandard cupcakes." He took the menu away and held my hand. "It's a malted milk cupcake with chocolate buttercream. I bet it's tasty."

"I don't know. Did I tell you about the cupcake I had at Coffee Bar?"

"About a hundred times," he said dryly.

"Because it was the cupcake to end all cupcakes." I put a wrist to my forehead. "I think it ruined me for all others."

Nate raised a disbelieving brow. "All others?"

"Except the java one at Kara's Cupcakes. And maybe her signature carrot cake one. The lemon blueberry cupcake I had with my sister in Portland was pretty good too."

"Dessert?" the waitress asked suddenly from behind me.

My beloved handed the menus to her. "We'll have the cupcake."

My heart thumped in my chest. I bit my lip, excited but also scared. All these what ifs ran through my head. Horrible scenarios where the cupcake arrived hard and crumbly like drywall. Or worse (though not even my fertile author's imagination could come up with something worse than dry cake).

And then it was in front of us.

Wrinkling my nose, I picked up my fork and poked at the squat, lopsided thing in front of us. You know those shortcake packages in the grocery store that are always stacked next to strawberries when they're in season? It was like that, only less appealing. Even the frosting on top looked unimpressed with the cake. "This is a cupcake?"

"Good thing I'm not ruined for all cupcakes." Nate grabbed his fork and took a huge bite. He chewed thoughtfully and then took another bite, pulling the plate closer to himself. "I'll just take care of this for you."

I rolled my eyes. "You're so thoughtful."

The Robe

Oftentimes I go to the café around the corner butt-early in the morning to write. Several reasons for this, really.

So this morning I went to the café, wrote my pages, and hurried home. I unlocked the front door, burst into the living room, and faced the couch. "Nate!"

But the couch was devoid of my sleepy beloved. Frowning, I went into the bedroom to see if he was still asleep.

The bed was made.

I stood there, trying to process it all, when Nate walked in and dropped a kiss on my pursed lips. "Did you write good pages this morning, love?"

I drooped the moment I saw him. "Aa-awww man."

"What's wrong?"

"You're dressed." I pouted, even though I had to admit he looked good in the blue sweater. It brought out the color of his eyes.

"Of course I'm dressed." He spoke slowly, like he wasn't sure I was operating on all cylinders. "I'm on my way to work."

"Dang." I stomped my foot. "I wanted to catch you on the couch in your robe."

His face betrayed his puzzled suspicion. "For any particular reason?"

"Well, a couple people have emailed recently to ask when I was going to write another Nate-in-the-robe blog post."

He nodded. "I see."

Only I could tell he didn't. "You're rather entertaining when you've got the hood on. And now I'm going to have to come up with some other blog topic." I shook my head. "Dang."

"Sorry, love." He kissed my forehead. "I'm thinking of throwing the robe away because it's pretty old and starting to fray. What will you and your fans do then?"

"Throwing the robe away?" I put my wrist to my forehead. "I shudder to think. I simply shudder."

Top Five Songs...

... that I'd consider singing at a karaoke bar.

Before I bring on the list, I better explain what inspired it because I know you're wondering. Though some of you are kind enough not to question the madness or my odd whims.

I spent last week with my sister, and Thursday night she and her friends took me out to the karaoke bar they frequent. Specially, just for me. Which meant I needed to sing something.

Do you remember that episode of Love Boat where Gopher had to perform for all the ship's guests, only it turned out he could only sing in the shower? That's me. Imagine a cat's yowling when it's in heat and you pretty much know what I sound like.

I can't blame you for cringing.

Anyway, the list of songs at the bar was so vast, it was difficult finding something I felt I knew well enough, much less thought I could sing. So I'm making a list for next time.

What did I end up singing last Thursday? My sister and I loved pina coladas and getting caught in the rain. Together, because if you're going to be crap, it's more fun being crap with someone else.

Oh—and if you don't remember how Gopher's problem on Love Boat was solved, they built him a little shower stall on the stage so he could rock the house. So if you ever see me with a portable shower, you know where I'm headed.