Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“What?” she asked, beaming at him.
“Apparently Sam was the guy in high school who made sure everyone had condoms.”
“Oh God,” Sam groaned.
“I’m sorry, what?” This was news.
“Sam didn’t want any of his friends, or the girlfriends of his friends, getting any diseases, and he didn’t want anyone to get pregnant,” Regina explained. “He used some of his money from his job to buy condoms in many assorted sizes.”
“Really?”
“What?” he growled at me. “I took all those films in health class to heart. So yeah, if you needed a condom, I was your guy.”
“I love this so much,” Aja said.
“You were always caring for others,” I said with a long sigh. “It’s so wonderful.”
“And, you know, he had to use a lot of those himself.”
“Mother,” he sounded horrified.
Dane’s turn to nearly choke on his water.
“He was a real Cassanova, was he?” Aja asked Regina.
“Oh, I couldn’t keep all the girls straight,” Regina assured her. “There was this one, Diane—I can’t even tell you how many times I ran that girl out of my house.”
“Oooh, let’s hear more about Diane,” Aja suggested.
“No, we’re not gonna talk about this,” Sam ordered.
“Don’t be a buzzkill,” I said, tipping my head at him. “Spill about Diane.”
“I’d rather have teeth pulled,” Sam replied as I leaned in and kissed under his jaw.
“I, for one, must know everything about you and Diane,” I told him, taking his hand under the table.
“And Chelsea,” Regina chimed in. “And that one with the purple hair.”
“Purple hair, okay,” Aja said, cackling. “Let’s go, Kage, spill.”
“Not on your life,” he promised her.
“I’ll tell you,” Regina began just as the waitress arrived.
“Oh thank God,” Sam grumbled, and I used the fleeting moments between when we had to order to turn his head to me.
“I had no idea about this careful side of you when you were a wee lad,” I teased him. “This is where your son gets it.”
“Just let it go, willya?”
“Fat chance,” I said, laughing. “I wanna hear about the girl with purple hair.”
“You realize this was all a hundred years ago before I fell in love for real.”
“Oh yeah? Who’d you finally fall for?”
He shook his head like I was ridiculous, and I waggled my eyebrows at him. “You’re lucky you’re cute or I wouldn’t keep you around.”
I scoffed.
“Fine. Maybe it’s not just because you’re cute.”
“You think?” I baited him, leaning in, giving him a light kiss. “Is it more?”
“It’s forever.”
“Yes, it is,” I murmured, and kissed him again.
“Will you order already,” Dane grumbled. “I’m hungry, and I need to know about the girl with the purple hair.”
That’s it, everyone. Hope you have a great rest of April, and I’ll see you in May.
MAY 2023
Hello, all, and welcome to the May 2023 He Said, he said. I have to first clarify my comments about spring that I made to my brother when I was in the midst of a surprisingly brutal allergy attack. It’s not that I don’t like spring, because I do, it’s just that it’s full of pollen. Everywhere. All over. Being outside is problematic, but normally, by the last week in April, first few weeks of May, I’m in good shape and ready for the better part of spring, the planting and the cleaning. Spring cleanup of my yard and my flower beds is something I relish.
Our yard is certainly not the biggest or nicest in the neighborhood, but Sam has a way he likes everything, so as a result, we have a firm division of labor. For instance, the front yard is his territory, the backyard is mine. Everything in the front, other than the trees and bushes, are annuals, while everything in the back is a perennial. He likes putting new things in every year, figuring out what he wants to do. I, on the other hand, do not. I like it to be the same every single year. On that note, let me take a moment to talk about these ridiculous words.
For years I thought that annual meant that the things you planted came up “annually.” That just makes sense. But no. Annual means once. So you plant it, and at the end of the season it dies and you have to clean up the dead carcass of whatever you planted.
So dumb.
A perennial returns every year, but that doesn’t mean it blooms all year or is the same all year, and technically, if it’s perennial, shouldn’t it be? Like, I get that an evergreen is a perennial. That makes sense, as in every season of the year, it’s the same. It’s green. But roses are perennials, and all they are is sticks during the winter.
I think annual should be yearly. This way you know, every year, you have to replant whatever it is. And perennial should be seasonal. Whatever it is will pop back up come spring, but you have to cut the thing down, making it all neat and tidy, come November, unless its hydrangeas. I mean, you can make a choice with your hydrangeas. I have limelight ones in the yard, and I let them dry up and get creepy in the fall. I don’t behead them—and yes, that’s what I call it—until the first snow. My husband complains, because he hates that, but I think it looks very autumn, and again, since I make the choices for the area…he has no say.