Conversation With My Husband While His Hand Is On My Thigh


It was nighttime. By night time, I mean just shy of 9PM, and Kealoha and I crawled into bed. I’d say we were spooning, but we’re solid people, so we were ladle-ing. He curled around me and put his hand on my thigh, just beyond the line of my shorts. Here is our conversation:


ME: Aw, now, dammit!

K: What?

ME: I shaved my legs tonight. I tell you, I did!

K: Really? Uh….

ME: I just, okay, I missed that one place. That one place where your hand is right now. I swear to god. See? Move your hand here. SEE! Smooth! SMOOTH!

K: But…how did you miss this one spot? Everything else is smooth except for here?

ME: I don’t know. I’m Nordic. My hair is invisible. I have shaving issues. What’s important here is why does your hand automatically zero in on like the one place I don’t want it to go?

K: Maybe that little patch is like the Bermuda Triangle or something.

ME: Oh, sheesh. Now I have to worry about my leg hair causing plane crashes. I can’t even talk about it. I’ll shave it tomorrow. It’s exhausting being a woman.



I quietly obsessed about causing plane crashes and shipwrecks with the gravitational pull of my leg hair. Then Kealoha kissed my shoulder, told me to sleep well, and eventually…I did.