Last
night I lay in bed with my boyfriend after making love and thought, ‘it doesn't get better than this!’ Earlier we had stacked his CD player with some Anita, Jaheim, Luther, Teddy and Whitney, programmed
the songs we wanted to hear, and chilled out with a bottle of Chardonnay.
We usually hang out with friends on a Friday night – him with his friends and me with mine, but after he had
stuffed himself with several pieces of my home-made fried chicken breast, I think he was too full to move. I
am not a great cook, there are only a handful of dishes that I cook well, but he loves my fried chicken.
He does most of the weekday cooking because he gets
home first, but on the weekend we prepare meals together, with him directing the show. I pretend that I
know less about cooking than I actually do and he has been patiently teaching me how to cook new dishes. I
am an intentional slow learner.
Fridays are usually take-away nights. We get home from work euphoric that the weekend has started,
order Indian, Thai or West Indian and gorge ourselves silly. But I had the day off yesterday so I decided
to surprise him. Take-away food somehow seems to rapidly run through our digestive systems, by the time
we have eaten and caught up on the day’s events we are almost ready for another meal. But the fried
chicken make us so lethargic neither of us wanted to move afterwards. Maybe cutting four large chicken
breast fillets into halves and frying them all was not such a good move – none was left for today as I had anticipated.
When the food had finally settled we slow-danced,
taking the action to the bedroom when things got too heated, leaving the music still playing and various items of clothing
scattered on the living room floor. He is a neat-freak, so he sneaked back to retrieve the discarded clothes
and turn off the music later. I didn’t move a muscle until this morning.
His friends will probably give
him grief for cancelling at the last minute, as will my two close girlfriends for blowing them off , but it was such a satisfying
night-in I'd do it again in a heartbeat.
I must remember the fried-chicken trick in future, for use on a night
when I want him to stay home and he wants to go gallivanting with the boys.
