“Hey, get a load of this.” Randy held up a stick and pretended to throw. Alpo hurled himself into the water and looked around, confused. Randy threw the
stick, and Alpo, confusion forgotten, paddled after it. “Gets him every time.”
“He is a dumb dog,” I said as Alpo climbed from the water with the stick and shook himself. “A big, dumb, wet dog.” I took the stick and hurled it as far as I could. Alpo, always game, made the marathon paddle to retrieve. “Big, stupid, dumb, smelly mutt.”
“Hey, don’t diss our dog,” said Randy.
“I wasn’t talking about our dog.”
Randy threw another stick and began to rub my shoulders. “Tension. It’s not healthy.”
“Yeah? Tell me about it. Tension, blah, blah, chakras out of alignment, blah, blah, blah. Throw in some tantra while you’re loading on the bull.” I’ll admit I was cruising for a fight. And since I wasn’t about to defy the big, hulking dog nor be humiliated by the big hulking butler, Randy was the obvious choice. Randy took his karma pretty seriously, and I knew how to pull his chain.
“Bunch of new age mumbo jumbo crapola.” Which was enough to get Randy to pick me up, set me on the picnic table and kiss me hard.
“Why don’t we skip the crap,” he said, “and move on to the make up sex.”