Stephanie Stone of Fort Wayne, Indiana was randomly chosen last week’s $25 winner with the correct answer to the question: What did Bill place on Cindy’s cold leg? Ans: His hand.
“We don’t soak in your toilet, so please don’t pee in our hot tubs.”
That was the sign in the lobby at the Seaside Hot Springs Resort.
Down at the tubs, another sign: “If everyone enters naked, make others feel comfortable—disrobe as well. No sex without the consent of everyone present. Don’t stare!”
“Do you bring all your girlfriends here for nude hot tubbing?” Cindy asked, slipping into the bubbling water.
“Only the special ones.”
“What makes me special?” she cooed, smiling puckishly under a star-filled sky.
Girls always do that. Test you to make sure they’re more special than previous specials. And you’d better have the correct answer!
I ticked off numbers with my fingers. “You’re pretty, you’re sexy”—can’t stop there; she’ll want more—“you’re kind … warm … smart … and make me want to give up Pac-Man to only be with you.”
She paddled over and kissed me.
A Week Later, The Proposal
I led Cindy by the hand into the restaurant and sat her down at a table set with bright flowers and cold champagne.
“Why did you choose this restaurant?” she asked.
“This is where we met. Love at first sight, remember?” (Brier Patch 23)
“Your sight, not mine,” she corrected, referring to when we first met three years earlier. I was at the restaurant with a birding group, and she was our waitress.
I got on my knees and opened a little box. “Honey, will you marry me?”
She put a hand to her chest. “What about Michael and Jessica?”
Previously, I had told her that although I loved her, I couldn’t marry her because she had two young children. My youngest was graduating high school, so for me, raising children was a thing of the past.
That was then, this was now. I said, “I’d like to sign up for another daddy hitch. And honored to do so.”
The chef dropped by our table. “Well, Bill, what did she say?”
“Good question.” I turned to Cindy. “What do you say?”
She sipped her champagne, then replied, “Maybe.”
My three wives (I hadn’t met the fourth yet).
My marriage to Cindy (wife number three, second from left) set an eleven-year record for longevity. She’s still a friend (as are Terry, far left, and Pam), and is one of the sweetest women you’d ever meet.
But, sigh, shit happens.
Thanks for dropping by.
Next Week: Wife Number Four … Match.Com
IF YOU’RE ENJOYING these goofy blogs, share them with friends (or, heck, anybody). There’s a new one each week (until I run out of drugs, girlfriends, and wives.)
YOU ALSO MIGHT LIKE MY BOOKS: billbrier.com/books/
THE DEVIL ORDERS TAKEOUT — Award-winning thriller (that Scooby loved).
(Buy on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, IndieBound, BAM, iBooks, Kobo, Google Play, Audible)
THE KILLER WHO HATED SOUP — Award-winning mystery (that Scooby really loved).
(Buy on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, IndieBound, Kobo, Google Play, Smashwords, Audible)
THE KILLER WHO WASN’T THERE — Award-winning mystery (that Scooby’s still reading).
(Now available! Buy on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, IndieBound, BAM)
Barbara saysMarch 27, 2018 at 4:00 am
I think it’s great that you managed to stay friends with all your exes.
Bill Brier saysMarch 27, 2018 at 1:40 pm
Thanks, Barbara. I’m not only friends with my exes, but with two former girlfriends (one of which Joann and I see regularly).
Linda Moffitt saysMarch 27, 2018 at 10:23 pm
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