February Sucks for Walter Mitty - Sex Stories

February Sucks for Walter Mitty

... your wife, unless you've got a REALLY comfortable couch.

Thankfully, those sorts of arguments were rare. Most of the time, we were lovers and confidantes, die-hard cheerleaders and best friends. We shared household responsibilities pretty equitably--I was a better cook, she was better with laundry, we both hated vacuuming--and we kept the house running smoothly. Given my flexible schedule, I usually handled childcare, which I enjoyed... at least when we weren't snowbound.

Speaking of which, I was also in charge of snow shoveling. And, after the driveway was cleared and I'd warmed up a bit, we were both going to spend an hour or two rolling around the yard with the kids. Valentine's Day downtown would have been great, but as I thought about making igloos and snowmen with Linda, Emma and Tommy, I had to admit that my life couldn't be much better.

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Linda was nothing if not determined, so I wasn't surprised when she, Dee, Jane, and the other wives rescheduled our Valentine's Day soiree--rebranded as "Goodbye, February, We Won't Miss You!"--for the last day of the month. The new, improved plan was even more ambitious: In addition to dinner and dancing, we were also going to spend the night at a nearby hotel. Linda figured that, even if the restaurant and club ended up closing, we would benefit from a night by ourselves in a strange bed doing things that would scare the children.

I was totally on board: By the end of February, I would have happily given a toe ...

... for the chance to gorge on overpriced beers and honey roasted cashews from the wet bar in a room whereFrozen wasn't playing. It says a lot when a hotel room picnic starts to feel like a combination of Nirvana, Shangri-La, and the last five minutes of2001: A Space Odyssey.

This time around, the weather cooperated, giving us a couple of days when the temperature rose to a (comparatively) balmy 30 degrees Fahrenheit. Linda was able to shed the long underwear and her sleeveless blue dress was a vivid reminder that, under all the winter layers, my wife was a goddess. I wasn't doing too bad myself: While I had only been to the gym a couple of times since early January, shoveling snow is a great workout, and I looked pretty sharp in my best suit.

The night started out perfectly. We'd made it most of the way through another winter, the kids were doing fine, our jobs were great, and we were in love. It's a cliché, but shared struggle really does bring a couple together, and we were never closer than when we walked into Morrison's, the club where we were going to spend the night dancing before retiring to our hotel room for even more delightful aerobic exercise.

The place was jumping--apparently, we weren't the only people who were desperate to get out of the house. It was a younger crowd, and I recognized a few players from the Bills, our hometown football team.

On the dance floor, we're fluid motion. Poetry. Fred Astair and Ginger Rogers, minus the toupee. Silver Linings ...