Cabana Boy Chronicles
In a tip of the hat to my new title of “bored, frustrated housewife in search of a cabana boy,” I introduce you to a new writing project, the Cabana Boy Chronicles. These could very well be stories completely contrived for your entertainment by a bored, frustrated housewife (who wishes they were true). They could have some inspiration. Or they could be the starkest truth. Only the cabana boy knows for sure…
Our intrepid heroine had spent a long day designing creative songs to help encourage smooth transitions between eating, playing and sleeping, as well as fixing multiple snacks and meals, shuttling the little darlings about town, thinking of positive ways to teach rather than scream bloody murder and run for the hills when her princess started wailing on her prince, and eating cold meals. And it was another night of single parenting.
When the little angels finally seemed to be drifting off to the land of nod, our heroine, in her t-shirt strewn with shrapnel from the prince’s dinner/shot put practice, settled down on the couch with a glass of wine and her laptop in hopes of catching up with old e-mail. Three sips later she heard the ping of a new e-mail.
“I’ve been afraid of my love for you too long. I must see you now, before I lose my nerve.”
She felt a rush of blood to more than her face. Could that handsome guy at the coffee shop she’d befriended and flirted with all these years actually be noticing her? Or was this another of his heavy flirty e-mails.
What the hell, she thought.
“I’ve just started a load of laundry and have nothing to wear. As long as you don’t mind this little black thing I’m wearing that lacks enough fabric to make a doily, come on over,” she typed.
She took a long sip and hit send. It’s going to be another night of intimacy with her electronic friend, she could tell already. What was she doing, flirting so madly with this handsome, younger man?
She was living, damn it. He made her feel young and sexy. She leaned back, old friend e-mails forgotten, and imagined what it would be like to kiss those full lips and run her fingers through his thick dark hair.
Ping.
She looked up.
“I’m parking in front of your house now.”
OhmyGod!, she jumped up and ran to the bedroom, ripping off her spoiled shirt and taking out her hair band.
Wait a minute. He’s never come to my house before. He’d not do that, would he?
There was a soft knock at the door.
CRAP!
She grabbed a spaghetti strap tank top she hoped went with the pajama bottoms she was wearing and headed for the door.
There he was, every square handsome inch of him, with a small smirk and a not so discreet twinkle in his eyes. Water droplets in his hair reflected the porch light and she swore she detected a soft coffee aroma. He must have come from work.
“I didn’t expect you to come by. I thought you were just teasing as you,” she stammered as he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her waist. His face was inches from hers and she felt her mouth go instantly dry.
“What am I doing,” he moaned as he leaned toward her, closing the distance.
“MOMMMMMMMYYYYY!” the scream woke her from a dead sleep. She looked around. The laptop was still on her lap, dozing away with a screen saver of vacation photos. She tapped a key. There was her list of unopened e-mails she’d meant to get to. None were from him. She was still in her dirty t-shirt and PJ shorts, and she was tingling all over.
Figures, she thought as she got up to see what the crisis of the moment was. Guess I’ll be spending the evening with my electronic friend again after all.
