The husband and wife got away for the weekend. A surprise gift for the husband. Sexy sexy spontaneity. The wife sprung for the more expensive room in the B&B to get the Jacuzzi-sized tub.

They arrived at the suite and did the once around. The television was promptly turned on–an American habit–and the channel-flipping landed on a program that acted as white-noise for the time being. It probably was a program about animals humping/jumping, hitting their masters with a tee ball bat in the groin, all to the tune of some goofball soundtrack that equaled American comedy. Sound effects of car horns and slide-whistles intermixed with the pseudo-wit of a voice over actor.

The tub was spotted by the wife as the husband unpacked their suitcase.

“We’re using this tub,” she declared, justifying the additional fifty dollars to the bill in her mind right then. She pictured rose petals and champagne and candles lining the mantle. Of course, in reality she realized the situation would be different. She’s not one to buy and then ruin perfectly good roses. The husband doesn’t drink, and the only time you see candles in a bathroom is in a Julianne Moore movie.

They settled in for their relaxing evening. The wife started the bath and the water slowly filled the tub. To allow her body to adjust to the warm temperature, she did the same thing she’d done since she was a child; she climbed in to the tub and sat in the inch of water waiting for the bath to fill. Knees up to her chest, her stomach rolled into a bulge that did not resemble the Julianne Moore’s figure. She spread out and poked at her stomach pooch. Julianne Moore probably had a stomach pooch somewhere…

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