Warm Love.

Tonight was no different. She decided to perform my every living fantasy: on all fours aside my reclined La-Z-Boy, her back used as my beer-rest, motionlessly pumicing my corns.

I listened as she read off the night's baseball scores. Then, she turned to me and said, "Don't get up; let me do all the work again." I told her that'd be fine, "But first, could you get me another cold one? Oh, and I believe that apple pie is cool enough. Don't forget the vanilla ice cream." She smiled and did as she was told.

The end.