Treats!

For anyone who ever thought Mr. Morgan was a snore, and I have on occasion… I came home today from work, to the stereo pumping a song that I know to be from Lord of the Dance. how he found that cd.. no clue, but extremely thinky to have done so, he knows I love that show. Adding to it was my delicious husband doing his very best to Riverdance as I walked in, and telling the dogs “hey, like we practiced!”

Mr. Morgan pulls a mean Riverdance for all his height, heels kickin’ arms on hips and a wiggle I couldn’t decribe. I immediately joined in, kicking legs and hopping about and prancing, we ruled all that could rule. In our clumsy leg flopping way. We got our jig on, my purse and what nots bobbing along because who resists walking into a dance?

I then found drinks poured and it seemed a party was hot to get on before I’d even sluffed my bag off my shoulder. Earlier, he had dialed my office promising a treat. I suspected it would be a Soprano, as I’ve cried, begged and swore off sex until I got the next season. As he did his Irish jig into the kitchen…. He’d hidden my treat in the microwave.

Much thought had gone into his treat!

Soprano’s.

He continued to jig right through the glee on my face. I took off fast holding them tight and willing to kick any dog who got in my way.

It’s almost 9pm… early for most but my brain doesn’t understand the Soprano addiction. Must… have… more! Mr. Morgan never fails to take care of his Salad Fork, even served my supper, and cleaned the kitchen while I tried to chase him away, sack off he's way mine. We should all come home to a walk in dance! Too fun.

-DM