Wrong. Because this weekend Gramps gave them cantaloupe at the table for a snack while they were out on the deck and in the hot tub. The cantaloupe was a good snack, except for one thing.
It ended up in the hot tub. In tiny pieces. And so did one of the small plastic cups, which ended up in the drain. Like a plug.
So the weekend ends, and I really don't want to go anywhere on Memorial Day. That was going to be my recovery day. From the kids. Who suck all the energy out of me.
The main problem is that the hot tub figured pretty importantly in those recovery plans. Along with a glass of wine and a certain man in my life.
And the problem there was the minuscule chewed up pieces of cantaloupe that were by that time fermenting in the hot tub. To empty the hot tub, clean it out, and fill it back up would be ok, except the water takes a couple days to heat up to the point that you don't scream in shuddering cold agony when you climb in.
Steve and I discussed it. Then he lifted the cover on the hot tub, took a look in and came to report its condition to me. I was working in my art journal at the time.
Him: well it doesn't look too bad, the pH is good and it is pretty clear.
Me: where is the cantaloupe?
Him: it all got sucked over to the filter cap. It's stuck there.
Me: let me go look.
So I walked out and looked down in the hot tub. I saw a few tiny rocks in one of the seats, and orange looking flotsam stuck to the intake on the filter.
Me: how you gonna get that cantaloupe out?
Him: I gotta climb in to clean it off
Me: hmmm...ok I think it's ok to get in.
So we got into a fairly cool hot tub (the kids like to push buttons and had lowered the temperature by ten degrees). Steve ramped up the temp, scraped the cantaloupe off the filter, and we settled in to relax. I had a nice red wine blend to drink, and he had a Bud Light.
We sat there for a while, just talking about nothing in particular, and I was telling him what a good investment we had made in the hot tub. It did double duty, as a corral for the kids, and a romantic tryst for us.
He was saying uh huh, then he noticed one of the dogs had been left out of the fence when he put them up for the night. The 17 year old springer was pacing, wanting in.
Him: oh no somehow I left Biscuit out when I put the other dogs up. Let me go put the old girl up.
Me: ok, just don't get the carpet wet in the house when you go get your flip flops.
Which is exactly what he did. I watched him shake off water like a dog, then go inside and come back out in his flip flops. (Did he really think that would work? No, but he thought I would buy it.) At that point I was half a glass into my wine and didn't feel like using the energy to bother saying anything.
He put the dog in the back yard, then got back in the hot tub. He stopped directly in front of me.
I looked up at him slowly. The look on his face was intense. He was staring at me intently. And I know what that look means.
I looked into his eyes, and he stared back at me.
I waited for him to say something raunchy. Or romantic. It could go either way with him.
Then he slapped my face.
HE SLAPPED ME. HARD. Hard enough my ear was ringing.
Me: WHAT THE H*## DID YOU DO THAT FOR?!
He held his hand up and I saw it.
A huge blood sucking mosquito.
Him: aww honey I just saw that skeeter on your face and wanted to kill it before it bit you.
So he says. I saw the gleam in his eye after he did it.