Mary and Daphne #84 (Patreon)

“Where’s my little critter?”

Her what now?

“Where’s my little critter?”

“Um, are you referring to me,” I asked from the living room as she came in sight around the corner. She had that derpy look she sometimes gets at the end of ten–hour workdays after having several ten–hour workdays in a row. Sure, if you work on your feet, you’re physically tired after ten hours, and she gets physically tired (sitting for ten hours is seriously hard on the body) but she’s a knowledge economy worker, according to the intelligentsia who name these things, and after ten hours three days in a row, she gets goofy.

I’m allowed to call it goofy to her face, just FYI. I called her derpy once and she made me take it back in a way that was only mostly fun.

“Yep,” she said and plopped down next to me. She put her hands on my cheeks and pulled me in and started kissing me all over my face and just loving on me. As if! I mean, geez, summon some dignity why don’tcha. Really.

“Mary – eh – Mary – heehee – Mary – stop! You’re embarrassing me on front of my friends.”

“There’s no one here but us, silly.”

“Who you calling silly?” I was not being silly. I was being quirky. She was being silly. And derpy.

“You, silly!” Touché.

“Are you done with work now?”

“Mhmm. For eleven whole hours. What are we gonna do?” Yeah, I don’t miss work anymore. I miss interacting with people. It was nice to walk into a room and know with a reasonable degree of certainty I’d walk out with my butt in the same condition as when I went in (though this one time when I was working at band camp...).

But working all day, barely having any me time, and then doing it again? What a stupid idea. I mean, first they pave over nature so you can’t live a hunter–gatherer lifestyle even if you want to, then they stop teaching which berries are poisonous in the schools and how to wear a moose. Which would work because Mary says I look good in anything, but sometimes I wonder how much to trust her word when she gets all derpy. Glad I never get derpy. Just because she makes me go all a–flutter until I go ha! and make my smitten–kitten face doesn’t mean I ever get derpy. Really.

“I’ll make dinner while you go change into something more comfortable,” I offered. Mary looked down at herself.

“I’m wearing sweatpants and a tee shirt,” she said because she finally joined the rest of the world in giving up on clothes with buttons.

“Well,” I suggested, “you could put on a tee shirt too grubby to leave the house in.”

“I’d rather sit here with you and wait for dinner to get here.”

“What did you order?”

“Food. Who cares anymore? I’m tired of figuring out dinner every night.”

“Ahem.” I’ve been doing ninety (thousand) percent of the cooking. We cook together some nights, especially weekends, but since she’s buying the food and doing all the income earning, I’m doing the cooking. Fair is fair. Plus it gives me something to do. Plus I can get away with (less) healthier meals when she’s not cooking.

“I mean,” she backpedaled, “I’m tired of letting you do all the work.”

“Nice save. You’re being goofy.”

“I’m out of working brain parts.”

“You’re talking like me,” I said.

“You’re a bad influence. And pizza. I ordered pizza.”

“Hmm,” I said, “I hope it has a garlic–butter crust so you won’t wanna kiss me tonight.”

“Is that your way of asking for a quickie before it gets here?” See, she must have some working brain parts. The parts that live in the gutter, but still.

“You’re the one who came in here all floopy and kissing me everywhere. You’re making me think you have some unrequited thing for me. It’s sad really. How sad for you.”

Hoo boy! She requited the stuffing outta me. And then promptly fell asleep. I had pizza and stroked her hair while she slept. Does that mean I’m a switch now? Probably not. It was a good day.