I guess you could say my beloved husband and I are in the twilight of our lives—hmm... Twilight... I wonder why that sounds so familiar—but Christian, randy old goat that he is, still has a way of surprising me inside of the bedroom and out.
"Let's go for walk, my love," he tells me. "The compound is lovely this time of year."
He's put in his dentures, so I know he means business.
"Shall we turn on the outside lights?" I ask him, remembering the time when he took out the trash and we had to form a search party.
"It won't be necessary, my dear," he assures me. "There's a full moon tonight—a harvest moon, they call it—and we'll have plenty of light."
Well, let me tell you, I knew he was up to something, and there, underneath the cherry blossom tree, he lay me down and things got hot and heavy on our lush lawn. It would have just been hot, but I've been cheating on my diet for the last fifty years.
"Christian."
"Yes, Ana?"
"I do wish you had turned on the lights."
"Why's that?"
"Because," I gently say, "you've been eating grass for the last twenty minutes."