Tag Archives: Stephen King


I was sitting on the couch only partially paying attention to Pierce Brosnan’s appalling acting in Stephen King’s Bag of Bones last night when the twitching feet in my lap distracted me. My Rockstar was sprawled haphazardly across the couch and not even the suspensful music that’s written to startle you by ending in shrieks or unexpected scenes was enough to keep him awake. I had to smile to myself at his feeble attempts to maintain consciousness, because they were interrupted by those snorts that begin as snores but are cut short when the person emmitting them realizes they’ve drifted off.

There were a few weeks recently when I was questioning my sanity by staying in a relationship with this man. There was no heart-shattering behavior, no; and I have no doubt that┬ámy Rockstar is planning on having me around for a good long time. The issue is that he didn’t realize it takes a little effort on his part to keep me here. I wouldn’t exactly call me high-maintanance, but excessive hugs and affection are required.

But as I sat rubbing my excess supply of Island Breeze lotion on his stinky formerly-perfect feet, I watched him sleep. The ever-present concentration crease between his eyes was still there, even while he dreamed. I think it’s probably too late for anything to be done about that, despite my best efforts to remind it won’t go away if he continues to scowl. His well-worked hands rested just so I could spy the faint scars of years of woodworking criss-crossing the skin. Even though he was wearing a stained pumpkin-orange t-shirt, his pale skin and faded red hair still made him look like an angel in a Michaelangelo painting.

I rubbed lotion between his toes and appreciated the fact that the hair on his toes wasn’t of the creepy sort- no one would confuse him with a family member of the Wolfman. He let out a little sleep groan at the exact time as Annabeth Gish’s disturbingly aged face flashed across the T.V. screen and I thought, ” Why would I want to leave? I’ve got the stinky feet of the man I love sitting in my lap.”



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