He's sitting on the couch, all dressed and ready for work. I come over and lay my head on his lap,
"Am I your favorite?" I ask.
"Always and forever," he responds, running his fingers through my hair.
When it's time for him to go, I raise my right eyebrow, giving him the look.
"Don't go." I say, but what it really means is I'm thinking of hanging on his leg.
It's a little something I've been doing since before we got married. He has to go to work; I hang on his leg like a toddler. He walks across the room, dragging me on one stiff leg toward the door, and we laugh (I mean, at least, I do)! Of course I've taught the kids to do it too.
"Have you learned nothing?" He asks.
You see, leg hanging can be dangerous. Last time, me and Riley went for the same leg from opposite sides, and she wound up inadvertently gouging me in the eye with her fingernail.
"Fine," I say.
So now he's off to work, and I'm left here thinking about my next move.
A sly smile crosses my lips.
Maybe Jenny (scroll down three posts) will let me borrow hers?