I love you like raisins

Tessa: This last Sunday was a lovely quiet day after our Saturday night dinner party bomb when our friend hijacked our cedar plank salmon and conversation with the 46 inch HDTV with 900 channels at full volume. Okay, the Ali G. marathon session was highly entertaining but nevertheless Sunday was a welcome reprieve. I was happy to have a nice quiet day and read on the couch while Dave photo shopped our friend's wedding picture for the 900th hour in a row. Deanna's head has been coloured, moved, removed, sampled, stapled, highlighted well you name it. But I digress because I was talking about my peaceful Sunday. From time to time Dave would rip himself away from his task sit on the couch, pat my feet, plant kisses on my forehead and say thing like"I love you like slfjdflkdflsj? " "Like what?" I said? "I love you like raissdosdrs." I'm positive I heard raisins. I love you like raisins. “Raisins” I asked. “You hate raisins.” "Yes, I know." he said walking away enigmatically...back to touching up his pictures for the 902 nd time.

A few hours later he would re-emerge from his cave, saunter over to the couch and whisper the same sweet nothing in my boggy ear still ringing from the Ali G marathon. But this time I thought I heard green peppers. I love you like green peppers. Green peppers. He hates green peppers. Ohhhh it’s all getting a bit cryptic now. How am I supposed to read when he’s busy photoshopping without me and telling me he loves me like raisins and green peppers. How can I fully concentrate on my zombie book with disturbing thoughts flying through my mind like an electrical storm. So I get up from the couch and travel to his lair. The photoshop lair. Now I’m beginning to understand that he’s not re-doing these pictures out of necessity which is one thing. He’s doing them because he LOVES DOING THEM. That’s why all of a sudden I’m a raisin and not a hamburger. He knows I’m on the couch reading my zombie book just waiting for him to finish with that filthy photo manipulating program so he can play with ME. Yes, ME! That’s right. I don’t want to read, I want to PLAY. He knows that. He knows I’m slowly seething. I’m turning into Ali G. I’m becoming the monster in my werewolf book because I want attention. Yes. I DO!

So I wrap my arms around his shoulders, bend down and nestle my face in his neck and whisper sweet nothings in his knobby ear. "I love you hot pants,"I say. "I love you like XFCXFG+KJHKHKJHLH." "Like what?" he shouts trying to escape my body hold. "Like raisins."I say sweetly. Like raisins.