Getting Dirty
Jean sighed, taking a step back to admire her work. "I still cannot fathom how this survived all those years in the garage," she mused.
Lucien smiled as he continued painting. "Well, you know Dad. He never got rid of anything. Out of sight, out of mind. He just kept things wrapped up in boxes behind a locked door and never looked at them. And you know I couldn't be bothered going through any of that mess," he pointed out.
"I'm just astounded that your parents kept your bassinet after you grew out of it."
"Maybe they thought they'd use it again. They may have wanted more children. I don't know. I'm sure they figured just one of me was plenty," he joked.
"Even so, it's been fifty-odd years since it's been used, and it's still in surprisingly good condition." Jean regarded the bassinet with a fond look in her eye. Her beloved husband once slept here when he was a newborn, and now their child would as well.
They had been doing this little fix-it project together for a few weeks. Stripping the old paint, sanding down the wood, and finally painting. Lucien refused to let Jean help with any of the chemical or labor-intensive aspects in her condition. So painting was all she was allowed to help with.
"There we are. Take a look at this," Lucien requested, putting paint on the last crevice of his side of the bassinet, flicking the paintbrush to cover it all.
Jean felt droplets land on her face. "Lucien!" she exclaimed. His brush strokes had sprayed paint all over her.
He looked over in abject horror. "Oh Jean, I'm so sorry! Here, let me help wipe that off you," he offered.
"No, you've done enough," she replied bitterly. But she got a little twinkle in her eye as a mischievous idea popped into her head. "There, how about that for you." Jean dipped her own brush into the paint and flung it all at her husband.
Lucien gasped in surprise as a big glob of paint landed in his beard. "Jean!"
She just giggled in response. A boyish grin spread over his face as he flung paint back at her. She shrieked and laughed, throwing her paintbrush at him and scurrying away from his line of fire.
"Oh no you don't!" he laughed. Lucien put his hands into the paint can and chased his wife, dripping in her general direction.
He caught her against the wall of the garage, pinning her to prevent her escape. She was panting from the adrenaline and laughing at his paint-covered face. She leaned forward to nuzzle into him, rubbing her nose against his, spreading the paint between them. Lucien put his arms around her and pressed her body against his, as close as her pregnant belly would allow. They exchanged a few soft kisses, smiling too widely to do much more.
Jean pulled away eventually and looked at the garage around them. There was paint everywhere. "Oh what a mess!" she lamented.
He chuckled. "I was about to apologize because it's usually me who makes the mess but I think this was your fault."
"Oi, you got paint on me first!"
"That was an accident! You're the one throwing things!" He laughed, "I can't believe that I turned a tidy housekeeper into a wife who throws paint all over the place."
"Well that certainly is your fault. I used to be a very clean person and now you've got me enjoying getting a bit dirty. Obviously, since I am pregnant," she teased.
"What's say we go take a bath to get a bit dirtier as we get clean, hmm?" he growled, rubbing his paint-covered beard on her cheek.
"I'll go run the bath. You put away the paint," she replied, hurrying out.
Lucien watched her walk away and burst into laughter.
She turned, confused. "What?"
"I'm sorry, Jean. I seem to have gotten handprints on you."
Jean craned her neck to look at her back. Sure enough, two perfect handprints of paint were pressed firmly on her bum. She turned bright red, glared at him for laughing, and quickly went into the house, intent on punishing him for that later.
