did i shave my legs for this?

Saturday was filled with hours of cleaning and getting my pimp ride’s oil changed and inspection complete, and therefore, there wasn’t a lot of time left for the nookie.  Nothing like sitting in the Toyota dealership’s service lobby for 2 hours to get a girl in the mood, eh?  So Sunday, after church, I knew I needed to get myself a piece of hot man meat.

I came home and the nightmare of all womens’ nightmares was commencing on the couch.  The SM, unshowered, still in his attractive ensemble of old ratty basketball shorts and no shirt, faux hawk in total disarray, was flipping between not just two, but THREE sporting events.  The NFL Draft, our hometown Cleveland Cavaliers playing in the NBA Playoffs and the Cleveland Indians putting it down with the Yankees.  Don’t get me wrong; I love sports more than the average girl.  I bleed scarlet and gray for my Buckeyes, etc.  But I needed some hot man lovin’ and I needed it now. 

I proceeded to change into a white tank with a cute bra underneath, some boy shorts (rar!) and began my chores.  I pranced around, bending over provocatively to clean up around the SM, resorting to standing in front of him and shaking my awesome tushie. 

He was like, “What is THAT about?” 

I responded, “I am trying to tempt you with my feminine wiles.”

“Baby, you know I love you…but the Cavs, the Tribe AND the Draft are on.  There isn’t much that is going to tempt me today.  These are all my favorite things…and they’re important to me.  I’m sorry.”

I was *thisclose* to losing my mind.  I had been…incapacitated…for the last week with my Aunt Flo in town and now he wants to pull the sports card and leave my va-jay-jay unused like a sad, abandoned amusement park for another day? 

“Fine,” I said.  “I’ll just have to fuck myself then.” 

“Hey now….I’ll make it up to you!  It’s just a big day for Cleveland.”

“Fine, tomorrow, when we get home from work - I am claiming the whole rest of the night as ‘Ashleigh Day’.  Snuggles and flowers and rubs all night.” 

“Oh…..baby.  The Indians finish up their series with the Yankees tomorrow night.  At 8.  So how about some Ashleigh Hours?”

Like the Deana Carter song, did I shave my legs for this?  Seriously?  I don’t need to get down and dirty every night, but my shit was out of commisson for a week and for real?  We were having this conversation right now?  I decided to to be the bigger person and go about finishing my chores.  I had to keep my mind off of the party going on in my pants and the abundance of retardation my boyfriend was suddenly overcome with. 

Eventually, we got showered to head over to a friend’s for a cookout.  When he was done showering, he came into our bedroom where my bathroom is, and dropped his towel after a little dance that some might venture to call sexy.  (Others might call it…hilarious and super Caucassian.  Others being me.)

“What is THAT about?” I said, dripping with sarcasm. “I thought it was a big day for Cleveland.”

“It’s hot in here…I think I am just gonna lay down here on his bed….without any clothes on….”

Ah….shiiiit.  Fine.  I couldn’t restrain myself any longer.  My defenses were weakened by his white boy dance, his drippy wet faux hawk and peach-fuzzy treasure trail leading to the magical booty that this pirate wench hadn’t pilaged in much too long.  What can I say?  I’m a sucker. 

He just needs to be quite aware; Ashleigh Hours are still in full effect for tonight.  I might even make the SM play with my hair or even give me a little back rub.  I don’t care if he’s watching the Tribe over my shoulder.