One week ago, Dave and I spent 23.5 hours without our children at our favorite resort so we could celebrate our anniversary like sinners, gambling and having wild sex.
I found a purse I completely fell in love with during our getaway. It must have been all the sex. Or the money I won. We were supposed to be shopping for souvenirs for the girls and my parents, but I couldn’t help but notice it and want it for myself. After the fourth or fifth time I danced past and fondled it, Dave asked, “Why don’t you just buy it?’
“Oh, I don’t need it,” I said softly, turning back to reach out and run my fingers over the embroidered letters.
“But you want it?”
I gave him a coy look out of the corner of my eye, then turned away from it and headed toward the front of the gift shop.
He grabbed the purse of followed behind me.
“Buy it,” he said, handing it to me.
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t know…”
“Leslie. BUY IT.”
“And LET’S GO.”
I cradled it in my arms and examined it while waiting our turn to check out. When we were up next, I started to have second thoughts. “Dave, are you sure? Isn’t it a little cheesy?” I asked, holding it up next to my face.
“Cheesy is kind of your bag, honey.”
Literally, now it is.
“People do really stupid things in foreign countries.”
“Absolutely. They buy leather jackets for much more than they’re worth.”
Of course, I wasn’t in a foreign country, just a different state.
And secretly, I still really, really love it.