As I was putting away clean dishes and prepping the electric kettle to make yet another cup of coffee, Nyte came up behind me and grabbed me around the waist when I turned around to fetch the coffee filters and grounds.
“Oof,” I said gracefully, managing to not bludgeon him in the head with my extra-large Texas mug (a gift from a previous roommate’s hopeful suitor, who had just come from Texas to visit her and get into her good graces – he didn’t, but I saw no reason to get rid of a perfectly good mug). I am very graceful, you see.
“I just wanted to hug you,” he said sweetly, squeezing me.
Aww. I hug him back a bit awkwardly, a mug in one hand, a drip cone in the other. We stayed that way well past the socially-acceptable three seconds that I had anticipated, and after five seconds I was officially (perhaps callously) impatient. “Um,” I began, wondering how to explain to him that his affection was, as usual, ill-timed without sounding unappreciative. “You’re standing between me and coffee.”
“Okay, that was a lie,” he admitted. “I am never moving. I have claimed you.” He tightened his hold on me to emphasize his point.
At this time, I’d like to point out that I am all of five feet, three inches (says my driver’s license, because they don’t actually measure you and I felt a wee fib of 3/4 of an inch would not, in fact, send me to hell) and Nyte is easily six feet, three inches. I was not going anywhere unless I resorted to my vast experience (3 years, on and off in junior high and high school) of Okinawan karate (fellow students of Love’s School of Karate and Self-Defense, holla!). I was an orange belt (11 or more years ago), after all. I gotz me some skillz. Kee-yah!!!
Instead, I pretended to bludgeon him on his ginormous melon (not that I can really talk) with the very sturdy Texas mug, playfully. As if I wasn’t very anxious to set up my cone drip over my mug and fill it with grounds before the kettle finished boiling, so my coffee would be at maximum temp (and thereby closer to perfection). “You claim me in the name of…Spain?”
“I claim you in the name of…biological imperative?”
“Well…do you have a flag?”
“You’ve borne two of my progeny. I don’t need a flag, I live here.”
“Ah-ah, sorry, no flag no country, according to the rules I just made up,” I countered, shamelessly stealing Eddie Izzard’s material.
He looked at me with narrowed eyes. “We are so weird.”
“Well,” I answered thoughtfully, “YEAH.”