I don’t remember ever having a weekend to myself. Not in our 20 years of marriage. How relaxing it was to not hear, “Mom, Mom, Mom this and Mom that!” Not knowing quite what to do with myself I guess I was much more used to people telling me what to do and what to think than I cared to admit. Feeling a bit annoyed I decided to trim my roses. Sensing some pride in my decision, I changed into my skimpiest bikini and went into the backyard.
For 41 I’m still fit and trim. My 34Bs on my tall frame elicit many a smile from strangers. The late morning sun felt delightful. Warmth, real warmth permeated my skin. I stood for a moment and just took deep breaths. Oh how wonderful it felt. I scanned the yard, perfectly peaceful. The stockade fence and large oak trees provided privacy and seclusion. Slowly, I grabbed my pruners and an empty bucket and began to select the roses for my arrangement. Stopping to sniff each one, my mind drifted into peace and contentment.
Making my way to the rear of the yard I began to hear a quiet clicking noise. I tried to ignore it but it would not go away. Looking around, I saw no one. The cool breeze tickled my skin. I stretched to get the full effect and, click, there it was again. With the wind kicking up a bit I saw a tree house not more than 20 feet away.
“Anyone up there?” I asked.
Click.
“Only me,” came the response.
Startled. I stood there staring at the tree and up popped a young man. Bushy, rugged looking, Kennedy kind of hair and a huge toothy smile. I stared at him, too surprised to move. No shirt, he seemed tall with broad shoulders.
“What are you doing?” I asked feeling a bit out of sorts.
“I’m taking pictures of you,” he stated very matter-of-factly.
“Why me?”