Mary and Daphne #144 (Patreon)

Mary thinks she’s so suave and focused and put together, and she so is but not nearly as much as she thinks. I can discombobulate her at least as good as she can me; it’s just that it takes more effort on my part. So really, of the two of us I’m the better discombobulate: yeah, she does it more often, but I’m easier to twitterpate (except I’m not because I’m so super stoic and sanguine and stuff).

“Mary, o Mary,” I called out in the dulcet tones of my angelic self. I sing great, is a thing my mom told me when I was five and I’ve just assumed was objective and true and continues to be objectively true all these years later.

“Yeah,” she called back from her office.

“Come be with me. Business hours ended twenty minutes ago and I’m lonely.”

“Aww. We can’t have that.” I heard her office door close behind her. That was my idea: when the workday is over, the door gets closed so we (mostly she) can’t see her workplace.

“Ya know what happens when wives get lonely,” I asked as she strode into view. What a view it was, too: a blouse I bought her once and sweatpants. Business on top; homelife down below.

“What happens when they get lonely,” she asked as she flopped down on the couch next to me.

“They stray from their marriage, except I wouldn’t ever. I’d just get sad and reminisce about the way we once were.”

“Daphne Ann, tell me the truth: have you been drinking?”

“Yeah, but just this much,” I said and gestured toward my wine glass which had two whole sips missing.

“How do you get tipsy on not even half a glass of wine, but it takes like three shots of vodka?”

“I don’t do shots anymore, Mary. I outgrew those.”

“You just put three shots worth in a nice tumbler.”

“Yes, like a grown up. Here,” I said and slid my glass toward her. “Don’t make me drink alone.”

“We definitely wouldn’t want you to be That Housewife,” she chuckled before taking a swallow.

“I’m not a housewife. I’m a homemaker … who rarely leaves the house, but that’s different.”

“You just don’t work outside the home.”

“Why would I need to work outside the home when you’re here? You’re the boss of me … In fact, you’re the best boss I’ve ever had. Really.” By a way lot. Really.

“And you’re my bestest and naughtiest and cutest employee.”

“Ooh, I have an idea!” I said as I bounced with excitement. And I don’t usually get all bouncy when I’m excited for one of my ideas. That’s just not true, and I am nothing like Tigger so don’t even compare me to him and also cuz he’s the only one (according to him, and he kinda won’t shut up about it).

“What?”

“After dinner, we could put on our work clothes, the office ones, and you could, um, chastise me for my work-related offenses.”

“And what offenses would those be,” Mary practically growled at me. It’s dangerous getting jungle predators aroused. Sometimes they pounce and sometimes literally and sometimes when they do that you accidentally land on your arm funny and they spend hours bringing you ice and Ibuprofen and feel guilty for days. It really is a jungle out there. Anyhoo …

“Um, my tardiness. I haven’t been to work in more than two years.”

“That’s not tardiness, young lady. That’s chronic absenteeism, and the consequences are much more severe. We might have to put you on an employee improvement plan.”

“Could it be severe in a way that you get distracted and then, um, do non-boss-like stuff to me?”

“What kinda stuff?”

“Ya know, stuff … and things.”

“Is this a fantasy of yours I don’t know about?”

“Yeah, but only for the past two minutes … so actually you’ve known about it for as long as I have.”

“Cutie.”

“And it’s not even on purpose.” The me being a cutie part. Other parts were on purpose. ‘There goes Daphne,’ people say, ‘determinedly set upon her purpose.’ Yep, that’s a thing people say about me. Really.

“So what should we have for dinner,” she asked.

“I ordered dinner already. Thai.”

“That sounds good.”

“I have an idea for until then.” Not bouncy at all cuz I had this idea way earlier and all the excitement had leveled off to to a happy anticipation by the time I told Mary.

“What?”

“I sit on your lap and rest my head on your chest.”

“And?”

“And you rub my back … or pat my butt. You choose.”

“And?”

“And we hold each other and maybe fall asleep until dinner gets here.”

“That’s it? You just wanna be held?”

‘Just?’ I think Mary is selling herself short on how much being held by her is all the kinds of awesome at once.

“Not just. I wanna hold you back. I like holding you.” And cue my adoration eyes looking all adoringly at Mary.

Bam! Mary’s Daphne-is-so-lovable-I-can’t-stand-it face. I am, ya know. Really.

“C’mere, Daffy.”

“I like this probably more than you really understand,” I said once I snuggled in.

“Same goes. I don’t even mind risking you cuddling with me without your diapers on.”

“Be nice to me. I’m smol.”

“What’s that? You’re little?”

“Smol! Now shush. I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Concentrate on what?”

“Falling asleep like this.”

“My little girl,” she said and kissed the top of my head (wistful sigh).

“Smol.”

“My little girl.”