With our fire pit.
It is all my fault, really.
I guess I'm not HOT enough.
Snicker. Wink.
Plus, I whined and whined and pleaded for this seductress. I wanted the fire pit more than he did! I just knew it would be an awesome addition to our backyard.
And I finally got what I wanted.
He spends a lot of time out there. Stacking, sweeping, arranging, fueling.....gazing.....sigh.
It is very tempting...you know...to make all the oh-so-easy sexual innuendos....about "poking" and "blowing" and so on....but, ahem....anyway....you get the drift? He is out there. By the fire.
Come home, honey.
We miss you.
In all fairness to me, it has been a little chilly out there - even with that blazing, toasty, hot inferno that is roaring and popping.
I went and traded my extremely fashionable night-on-the town-with-my-man attire for night-by-the-fire-pit attire. It was easy to do. I mean, I already had the stretchy pants and bulky hole-filled sweaters.
But the smell of wood smoke makes me sneeze and get all stuffy.....and somebody has to cook supper, right?
When the weather warms up just a wee bit, I will go fight for my man. I can gather kindling or something, yes? Throw a hunk of meat on the grill? Sweep ashes?
Listen to the gurgling, babbling fountain.....
The owls really get cranking with their "who-whos" and the sunsets are nice....
But for now, the nights are absent of husband.
Well, not technically. He is OUT THERE. With a little Bruce Springsteen and a cold beverage.
I always thought it would be something (some ONE) different.
Curve ball.
Sniff.
Sneeze.
Out! Out! Woodsmoke! (This is where the Shakespeare reference comes in, o.k?)
Ya' know....I DO like stretchy pants....and old sweaters.
~J
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