The Anti-Valentine's Day Story

Here's my more practical, decidedly (and deliberately) less romantic version of the steamy scene over at The Clarity of Night.

I call it "Two Too Many in the Tub"

Maggie turned on the water, sighing. The kids were finally in bed. Ten o'clock. A bath to herself. Lovely.

She searched through the cluttered cabinets and finally found a bottle of nearly-empty lavendar-scented bubble bath. It had spilled all over the drawer, destroying a tube of expensive lipstick as well as soaking a package of heartburn medicine.

"Dammit," she muttered, but didn't clean the mess. It would be there tomorrow.

Slowly, she poured what little was left of the bubble bath into the tub. The smell of fake flowers hung heavy in the air. Maggie sneezed and turned off the water.

She quickly undressed and got into the tub without testing the temperature. "Ahhhh!" she yelled, jumping out and hopping around on the fuzzy blue bathmat. She looked down. Her legs were bright pink from mid-calf to her toes.

Suddenly, the door opened. Bruce stood there, silent at first, then laughed.

Maggie was pissed. "What the hell is so funny?"

Bruce's grin faded... a bit. "It's not every day that I see you looking like a boiled lobster."

Maggie flipped him off and gently got back into the tub. She turned her head from her husband of eleven years, hoping he'd get the hint.

When she didn't hear the door close, she looked back and was mortified to find him undressing. "What in the world are you doing?"

Bruce stood in his stained underwear, hairy belly flopping over the stretched-out waistband. "Well, I thought it would be romantic..." He stopped.

Maggie rolled her eyes. She had been so looking forward to time by herself for a change. But she knew Bruce would pout if she didn't give in. "Come on," she said, scrunching her body up against the faucet to make room in the tub for 220 pounds of testosterone.

Bruce disrobed in record time, knowing his window of opportunity was limited. He got into the tub, wincing at the pain of the steamy water. "This is hot."

Maggie stared at him. "No shit, Sherlock."

Once settled, Bruce smiled at Maggie, who returned his expression with a frown. She crossed her arms. "What now?" she asked.

Bruce tried to extend his legs so they intertwined with hers, but soon discovered that whenever he tried to move much, the water sloshed over the top of the tub, spilling onto the floor.

"You're cleaning that up," Maggie said without emotion.

Bruce desperately wanted to salvage the mood that had never come to fruition. He began to stroke her legs but quickly recoiled in disgust. "When was the last time you shaved?" he demanded.

It was time for Maggie to laugh. "I don't know. It's winter." She turned her head to rest her face against the cold water knob.

Feeling foolish yet determined, Bruce maneuvered himself so he was close to Maggie's face. He kissed her cheek. It felt like a moist, dirty sponge beneath his lips. He resisted the temptation to gag.

Maggie turned to look at her husband. She knew sex was inevitable tonight, but she was damned if she was going to do it there. Too much chafing. Too little pleasure.

"Let's get out of here," she muttered.

Bruce awkwardly escaped from the tub and began drying himself with a threadbare towel. Maggie got out, too, wondering if she had remembered to take her birth control pills and hoping to heck she had.

Without warning, Bruce pulled Maggie close to him. She could smell the garlic on his breath. His face came closer and she resigned herself to the knowledge that there would be no "down time" this evening. Again.

"Wahhhhh!" The voice wailed from down the hall. "Mommmmmmy!"

Maggie brightened. "Jenny's crying! Gotta go now, hon!" She pecked Bruce on the ear. "Coming, sweetheart!" she yelled to the nursery. In a millisecond, she was gone.

Bruce stood naked, dripping lavendar-scented beads and standing in a pool of rapidly cooling water.

"Happy Valentine's Day." He slowly walked to the bedroom. He needed a cigarette.