Yesterday was a whirlwind of travel, putting us at one friend’s house for the afternoon, then shuffling off to another friend’s house for the night. I guess Otto hadn’t been entirely clear with this group of pals as to when we’d be where, so although they were delighted to have us (and OH MY GOD I had the best meal of my LIFE last night; I am thinking of asking his friends to come move in with us, because: EMERIL’S POTATO CASSEROLE), the hosts who were keeping us for the night hadn’t actually made up the guest bed yet.
So we’d watched the first half of the Patriots game at the first house (actually, they watched while I glanced up between working, which they were remarkably tolerant of) (that’s why I write for a living, because me write pretty, what with ending sentences with “of” and such) and then driven to the next town over during halftime to the other house. When we arrived, our hostess was making up the bed, and we brought our stuff in and I started to help.
Otto was looking pretty antsy, probably because the game had resumed and he wanted to see the rest. I figured by helping with the sheets and such, we’d get it done sooner and could get back to the game. (Plus, I was finally done working and could actually WATCH the game.)
“Now this bed,” said our hostess, snapping a sheet, “you have to be a little bit careful, because it doesn’t like to stay square.
Otto and I exchanged a questioning look.
“Um, does it make other shapes? CAN IT BE ROUND?” I asked.
She laughed. “No, see what happens here? If you move the mattress too much—” and she demonstrated, giving the mattress a small nudge, “—this happens.” And just like that, the headboard posts—this is a lovely, wrought-iron canopy bed with tall posts—slanted forward in a precarious manner. She maneuvered her knee against the mattress and shoved the frame back towards the wall, and the whole thing resumed an appropriate stance.
Otto nodded but didn’t say anything.
I flashed a big grin at him. “HEY OTTO!” I said, “I know what we’re NOT doing tonight!”
Our hostess choked back a laugh while Otto shook his head at me and turned to his friends. “This is my wife,” he said, “she has NO FILTER.”
Dude. You didn’t marry me for my filter.