My wife's a groomer

“We’re bonding,” she says matter-of-factly...

Preamble: I was sitting at my desk, staring at the blank page for just a minute, thinking about what I should write today. And so it happened that I just wrote about this very moment.

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I’m writing this as Gigi—my wife—is popping micro-pimples on my back. (Or so she says… I’m not even sure I have them, but Gigi assures me there are these very tiny ones. I’m 50% certain it’s just an excuse to scratch my back…)

I find it kind of annoying, the small pinches, but she likes doing it, so I let her.

“We’re bonding,” she says matter-of-factly when she hears my lightly irritated groan.

She usually does act a little more kind toward me after this “grooming,” so maybe there’s some truth to it… (Or is it all just theater so she can use me for her pimple-popping addiction?)

My dear readers, I wonder, is there anyone among you who likes to pop pimples as well? Do you find it satisfying in that similar monkey-grooming way my wife does? Please let me know, so I know she’s isn’t monkeying me around.

A minute or two in, I do feel a little more connected to her. But I don’t think it’s due to her popping the supposed little zits on my back; more so because Gigi is using the time to talk about her workday while I listen, restrained.

Just as I want to turn around to give her a kiss, our daughter calls from the bathroom to be taken out of the washing-basket-made-bathtub.

Gigi goes to fetch her, and alas, I get no kiss in return.

So much for bonding. 😘

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Thanks for reading this short piece, I hope you liked the small glimpse into a random after-dinner moment.

Sincerely,

Jibran