Weekend Begins for Baby-Girl
Beloved texts "BMP". Your hear quickens. You know from experience that Belmopan City is only thirty minutes away. If the bossman is in a hurry and the traffic on the Western Highway-oops you mean the George Price Highway- is light he may be home in less. Good thing you just finished bathing. and the mucks you are cooking is bubbling happily on the stove. You quickly grab the clutter of things that collected on the main table during your week. You put them away, somewhere, without care. Then you hurry and put on the dress, the short thing that accents all the right places. It makes his eyes sparkle, so you call this dress "his dress" and you wear it for him, only him.
You comb your long, soft, straight hair, (leaving it loose, falling over your head and back, still wishing it wasn't so) find the candles, light them, turn off all the lights except the ones in the kitchen area because those are the lights he will see first. Lip stick, you almost forgot! You brush on some eye shadow while you are at it. Just in time you grab the two wine glasses from their safe hiding spot and the bottle of non-alcoholic wine that you got on the way home from work comes out of the freezer (where you put it there in a hurry for a quick chill). You'll let him pop this cork.
You hear the almost silent rumble on the stones on the driveway. You pause. You smile. Breath deep. The week is over. Your Beloved is home from his work away. For the moment you forget to think that the weekend will be too short. You embrace.