Sandy had already brewed a pot of coffee, and was moving efficiently around the kitchen in a short cotton bathrobe and hair still wet from her shower when I walked in, dripping from my morning run. She blessed me with a big, quick smile before closing the fridge with ham, cheese, and Miracle Whip in hand and returning her attention to assembling the kids' Monday lunches on the marbled stone countertop in front of her. I retrieved a cold bottle of Gatorade from the refrigerator, cracked it open quickly, and drank half the contents in a few big gulps. It was still cool and dewy in the early morning when I started my run, but we'd been experiencing unseasonably warm weather for the past week, and I was feeling it by the time I returned home each day.
You're slowing down, old man
, I thought to myself, face flushed from the exercise.
Maybe, but that's why it's even more important to work out
, came the ready internal reply as I downed the rest of my drink.
"I don't know how you do that without cramping or wanting to puke," Sandy said after glancing up as I finished the bottle.
"A long history of drinking, eating, and sleeping whenever possible, as quickly as possible," I replied, followed by a belch as I tossed my empty bottle into the recycling bin.
My wife shook her head as her hands cut the sandwiches. My eyes were drawn to the hem of her bathrobe as it shook slightly with her movements.
Man, those legs look smooth. And the ass moving under that robe...
I glided in behind my lady and drew my fingers up the back of her thighs to cup her perfect bare cheeks in both my palms.
She squirmed sideways and out of my grip. "You're all sweaty. Ick."
I reached out and wrapped a wet arm around her waist from behind, drawing her back into my chest as I leaned down to kiss the side of her damp neck and press the front of my shorts into her delectable rump. I was rewarded with a sharp "eek" and more wriggling to escape. "Grant, I've already showered and...no, you're dripping on me...NO!" She wrestled in my grasp to turn and bring both forearms up to my chest. "We don't have time. I still have to get the kids up and dressed, and get myself out the door. And don't you have a meeting this morning?" I leaned down to touch my nose to hers before releasing her, and she immediately swiped her sleeve across her face to wipe away my sweat.
Sandy ducked past me to the fridge, and pulled out a freshly made protein shake, shoving it into my hands before I could reach for her again.
"OK, I'm headed up to shower," I conceded before chugging back my shake. Sandy was all business as she turned away again and popped lids on the sandwich containers.
How the hell am I supposed to stay away from her when she's wearing a square metre of cotton robe and nothing underneath?
I climbed the stairs and pulled my soaked technical shirt off as I entered our bedroom, shutting the door behind me and crossing the room quickly to our ensuite. The rest of my workout gear was stripped away quickly, and laid roughly flat in the jacuzzi tub in the corner. Sandy didn't like that, but I knew from experience that she absolutely hated finding damp and moldy shorts and socks in the bottom of a laundry hamper a week later even more, so I chose the least bad option by leaving them in the bottom of the tub for a day to dry. I swung the glass shower door open, and started to run the water before stepping in.
My mind skipped quickly to my upcoming meeting as my hands went on autopilot with soap, shampoo, and razor. I was leading the review of a "site and process audit" my team had performed for a client, and there would definitely be some sensitive areas to cover that would require a delicate touch. I wasn't gifted with a surplus of tact, but the fact was that I was better at diplomacy than any of the rest of my team, including my partner Svend.
We don't want to eliminate your individualism. You were recruited for your individual gifts and talents, whatever those might be. No, we simply want to direct those talents towards a greater goal - a TEAM goal.
I smiled into the stream of water rinsing my face as I remembered the words of my first commanding officer. I used the same ones with new employees at our firm.
If it ain't broke...
That was why I was the one tasked to tread carefully when client feelings were at stake: I was the best we had for that job.
I shut down the water flow, opened the door, and grabbed the soft, thick bath sheet hanging from my hook beside the shower. Stepping out of the oversized stall, I gave myself a quick rundown in the mirror as I toweled off. At thirty-nine, my body wasn't what it had once been.
It's not the age, it's the mileage.
Still, other than an assortment of scars, a sprinkling of grey hair mixed in with the auburn on my chest, and a bit less...
what? tightness?
...to my skin, I wasn't looking half bad. At five-foot-eleven (180cm on my ID), I still had a thirty-two inch waist and abdominals you could see. I remembered when that hadn't required any real discipline at all, when a hangover was banished with a quick 10K and a breakfast of half a dozen eggs, bacon, and fried potatoes.
Not anymore, buddy-boy. It's salads and chicken breasts and Michelob Ultra for you.
My physique was more ropy muscle than bulk, but that had been the case for most of my adult life - ever since I'd realized that beyond a certain point, humping all the extra mass of a body-builder around just wasn't worth the trade-offs in endurance and agility. My forearms and calves were the only areas of my body that stretched fairly standard athletic proportions, and that was as much lucky genetics as it was hard work. I leaned in over the counter to get a closer look at my face in the mirror as I ran a hand over my jaw, checking the quality of my shower-shave. I hadn't missed any spots today. Scraping a razor across my skin daily was a pain in the ass, but I'd worn a beard for a number of years, and had never really liked it. Neither had Sandy, although she had understood why it was necessary at the time. I was getting close to needing another haircut, but the reddish curls were still above my collar at the back.
A lot more white mixed in with that red than there used to be, eh Grant?
I ran both hands along the sides of my head, combing the short hair back with my clawed fingers. It would do for now. My face didn't bear the ruddy tan-burn that had been semi-permanent in years past, but the lines around the corners of my eyes and my mouth were now present even when I wasn't squinting or smiling.
Oh well, you were never pretty in the first place - no big loss.
As long as Sandy was OK with it, I was too. That epiphany had been a surprise: after so many years of being fiercely proud of my fitness, of having women look at me at the beach or the pool, I really had very little personal vanity left in me. I just wanted to be wanted by my wife.
