The Perfect Day
Random Acts of Journaling submission; April, 2003

“That tickles,” I said, stretching lazily under the feel of nibbles on my neck. “What time is it?”

“It’s early,” George whispered, his nibbles now traveling down my backbone.

I opened my eyes then and looked briefly at the clock. “Mr. Clooney,” I said. “Since when is 10am early?

I rolled over and smiled up in to his face.

~~~

Three hours later, tired but happy, I listened to George as he puttered around the kitchen. “What are you making?” I yelled out to him. “It’s a surprise!” was his only response. I could hear the shuffle his feet as they skipped over the kitchen tile to the sounds of Sinatra, also making their way down the hall.

A few minutes later, George walked in with a tray full of food; all of my favorites, to boot. Steamed crab legs; pieces of ham that he’d obviously had Arnett make special for me; steamed veggies; strawberries and kiwi; bananas covered in cream; so much food there was no way I could eat it all. “But save room for dessert,” he instructed me.

Before he left to go clean my house for me, he kissed my lips softly. “Don’t forget,” he said. “Our flight to Italy leaves in the morning.”