My loving husband has once again abandoned me and run screaming for the hills after spending a month in my presence.

He came home with the best of intentions, wanting to take care of his half deaf wife and spend some quality time with his children.

But it didn’t take him long to realize that even with only one good ear I can still hear him mumble snide remarks about my poor cooking skills and it took him even less time to realize that children who are home constantly on summer vacation tend to run wild like chimpanzees on crack.

Needless to say, he found another job. Away from home. Far enough away that he no longer has to stand beside the kids when I decide to toss Cheerios and maybe the odd grape at their hungry squawking mouths when they want to be fed.

The problem with Boo working out of town is we tend to get lonely. We miss one another. It’s hard to maintain marital relations when 500 kms separate the two of us. I mean, his Mr. Pickle is sizable but not quite that sizable.

Wink.

I’ve gotten used to receiving dirty text messages from him at all hours of the day and I even mastered the art of sending my own. We often trade emails. I write about how I miss his arms wrapped around my body and how useful those big strong shoulders would be when it comes to packing in the groceries.

He replies back with thoughtful responses such as “I miss you too. Send me a pic of your boobs.”

The romance is never ending with us. Not even after 11 years of marital bliss.

But while we talk on the phone multiple times a day, the one thing we have never done is have phone sex. I just can’t bring myself to do it. It seems ridiculous to me. I’d rather send him a disc of porn and a coupon for hand lotion.

Boo however, is nothing but persistent. Every time he calls, he asks if I want to get jiggy on the phone. (He still doesn’t understand by even using the term jiggy he is killing any chance at phone sex. Sigh.)

It doesn’t matter what excuse I make to avoid the subject, Boo finds a way around it.

“No, sorry honey. I can’t. I have a headache.”

“Just go grab a big cucumber and picture me. Then go to the baby food aisle. Old people avoid that aisle.”

If Boo dedicated half as much time to yard work or house repair as he does to trying to convince me to talk dirty about his purple headed trouser snake, I may just have the time and energy to devote to such fetish fantasies as this.

The other morning, after getting off night shift, Boo called me like he does every day. The difference was I was still in bed, trying to motivate myself to get up and start parenting.

‘Twas much easier to hide under the covers than facing my demon spawn while I waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

But I was in bed already, snug as a bug and the kids were off in the other end of the house, so why not I thought? Live dangerously.

“Whatcha doing?” Boo purred when I answered the phone.

“I am in bed, trying to avoid getting up.” Yawn.

“So you’re naked then?”

“Aren’t I always?” I started to joke but then quickly realized that joking was not the best way to be romantic so I quickly replied, “Yes. Naked and warm. And all alone in this big bed you bought for me.”

That stopped him for a few seconds. I must have confused him by not immediately snapping at him to get his head out of the gutter.

“Um, okay. You’re awful playful this morning,” he pondered aloud.

“Just trying to please my big strong husband,” I purred.

“What the hell is going on? Is someone in there with you? Is this a joke?” he huffed indignantly.

“No you dumbass. You always bitch about wanting to have phone sex and now that I’m actually game to trying you’ve got your head to far up your butt to notice.”

Silence. I could just picture him blinking trying to adjust to this revelation.

“Oh. OHHHHH,” he grinned. Or so I imagined through the phone.

“So stud, what are you wearing?” I tried again.

“Um, dirty jeans, socks that desperately need to be washed and a sweatshirt that smells worse than day old fish. Was hot last night and ..”

“Dammit Boo. Work with me here.” How can the man be so dense yet so damn cute all at once?

“Oh, sorry. I was just getting ready to get in the shower,” he quickly amended and I could hear him shrug out of his clothes.

“Much better. A steamy shower. Sounds wonderful. Think of the soap on your skin and my hand slowly caressing your back-”

“The shower isn’t so steamy. We’ve got a problem with the hot water tank and I haven’t replaced it yet. I keep meaning to but all the damn stores up here close before I even wake up.”

I sat there, in silence, looking at my bedroom ceiling and wondering what the hell was happening with my life if I couldn’t even do phone sex right with my husband.

“Boo. Forget the shower.”

“Oh right. Sorry. Go on, my dirty girl,” he begged.

“Fine. Imagine you standing there, and I walk OUT of the shower, all wet and naked and water droplets all over my body, and I smile at you and crook my finger at you to come over.”

“Oh, I like that image.”

“Good. What else do you like?” I asked in my best porno voice.

“Um, you’d want me to kiss you.” Wow. The depths of his creativity really floor me sometimes.

“I can work with that. Okay. Imagine my soft lips slowly touching your mouth, the heat of my breath on your face.”

“You brushed your teeth, right? Cuz I hate kissing when we have bad breath.”

Are you fucking kidding me? “Yes. I brushed my teeth in your fantasy world. Jeez.” I sniped.

“Sorry. Go on,” he apologized.

“No, just forget it. This isn’t working.” I pouted.

“No, no. It just got off to a rocky start. You startled me is all. I’m ready now. Go.” He pleaded.

“Alright. I’m kissing you and you like it. Why don’t you tell me what else you like, big boy?” I breathed into the phone.

“Well, I’d kiss you and then my hand would grab your soft ass and then-”

“EXCUSE ME? My soft ass?”

“I meant the soft skin of your bottom,” he hurriedly explained.

Snort. “Fine. Continue.”

“Um, I’d keep kissing you and slowly turn you around and then I’d bend you over and bang you till you jiggled so hard you would practically knock yourself out and-”

Blink. I mean, wow. Romantic or what??

“Listen here dopey. You don’t tell your wife she has a flabby ass and then point out that her once firm body now has flabby skin and saggy tits and is actually a sexual endangerment to her well being!!!”

“I didn’t mean that honey!!!”

“Ya. Right. Why don’t you just point out the dimles on my thighs and how my stretch marks glisten like moonlight too?”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean anything. The words just came out wrong!!” He hastily explained.

“Ya. They did. You may as well have just told me I have pancake breasts and you want to pour syrup on them!” I huffed.

Just then the bedroom door swung open and Fric and Frac overhearing the words pancakes and syrup squealed with delight.

“Whoo hoo! Mom’s making pancakes for breakfast! Thanks Mom! You’re the best!” They high-fived one another.

“Great. This is all your fault,” I whined into the phone as the kids bounced on the bed, just narrowly missing landing on my bladder.

“What? What?” Boo asked in confusion.

“Pancakes. From my boobs to my kitchen, I can’t escape them. And it’s all because of you,” I said as shrugged into my robe and cinched the belt tighter.

“Here, talk to your father. I’m getting coffee.” I said as I tossed the phone to Fric.

“Wait mom, what about making us pancakes? You just said?” Frac complained.

“Tell it to your father. I’ve already got two pancakes and I’m not sharing them with anyone. Ever again.”

I overheard Fric tell her father that her mother was crazy as I padded into the kitchen.

Damn straight child, I thought to myself.

And you’re father is intent on driving me to the looney bin.