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It was my hubbys birthday. At the times I am not bringing in a paycheck, I feel guilty spending money I did not earn on him so I improvise and make him something. Being the meat eater that he is, I once made a cake out of meat, a terrain I covered in cream cheese frosting and used a pastry bag filled with cheese spread to write his name on for his party. Another time I came up with a treasure hunt using riddles for him to solve the clues to help him find the champane in the fridge, that had the clue to lead him to the 4 wheeler key, to the picnic basket, to find the location I was hiding on a blanket. Once I got up early to serve him breakfast in bed as I did my yoga routine in front of him in the buff. In Texas I biked ten miles to his job so I could steal him for lunch. My sunstroke helped to convince him to leave work early that day. One year I bought him a cross bow and made him his own target by blowing up a picture of his ex wife and nailing it to hay bales. Ok I loved that one.

This year I cooked french cuisine for him. Blue cheese stuffed filet mignon, mushroom glace, roast garlic and bacon mashed potatoes topped with firecracker onion rings. Fresh endive and asparagus salad with crab and honey Dijon dressing. And every year being that he is german I make him old german chocolate cake. I used to make him just german chocolate but now that he is old....

Did I mention that I was nakid? Let me back it up. As long as I was going exoticly forien, I wanted to look the part. I go to my friend, salon spa owning Heidi. She has the massuse give me the body glow treatment. Waxed, scrubbed, polished so my body was that of a babies. (ok this did end up costing hubby some) Then she puts a temporary red/copper highlights through my hair. And she then curls all of this mop- takes 2 girls 1 1/2 hours to give me ass length Shirley Temple ringlets. Everyone in the salon had to come over to pull a curl and yell "Boing". She has done contestant make up for miss Minnesota wanna be's so this girl can swing a make up brush. She gave me false eyelashes and a mole right above my red painted lips. I stopped traffic. Dude at the gas station pumped my gas for me at the self serve. Ohh la-la I am so unmunkay like.

When hubby enters our clean and kid free candle lit house for his weekend visit home, he bellers, "Daddys home. Where's my food woman?" That is our usual greeting, I yell it when I walk in also. He drops his suitcase by the front door and walks to the foot of the stairs finding noone on the main level. That is when I make my entrance. Wearing only my lace collar and cuffs from my maids outfit, and a pearl thong, I strut down the stairs balancing precariously on my fuck me shoes. (these are shoes so sexy and high they are good for only one thing, hence the name.) I smile a little Mona Lisa smile as Le Encantment plays in the background. Hubby doesn't take to new things right away and hasn't quite figured out who I am or if I still have a handle or at least a tail hold on reality. I purr, "Bon joir, mes amie" to him with a little kiss. I decide to french it up one step further by speaking only in french to him for the rest of the evening. Doesn't matter that I have had only 1 year of french or that I remember few entire sentences, that bilingual Sesame Street comes right back. Hubby can't speak a word of it so it doesn't matter if I call his manhood a cabbage or not, it all sounds good. Honey begins to relax once I lead him to our living room couch, prop his feet up and pour him a glass of burgandy. I feed him hor dorves trying to keep out of arms reach when he tries to touch. He follows me unable to keep away back into the kitchen for the salad. I serve show girl cabaret style complete with side step high kicks.. He can't remember to eat. At one point he gets the digital camera out and pretends not to understand my "Non-non-non sil-vous plait", but I figure ok- even my own mother wouldn't recognize me. As he eats his entree I do my own improvised adult Circa du Soil with a peach and two ottomans. Thank goodness for yoga and tae kwan do. After Moulone Rogue style serving of the cake, I give him a french anatomy lesson on myself using the peach. Amazing how the feeling of a few pearls strategically placed along with a tumbler of peppermint shnapps on the rocks turn a guy into your very own french poodle. Hubby was a loved whipped puppy all weekend. Had to push him away to be able to go to the bathroom by myself. Finaly I sent him to the grocery store for a breather. He makes a show of placing the grocery bags down in front of me and says, "Find the ice cream before it melts". On top of the food I spy a slim velvet box. Honey bought me my own real pearls. Awwwwwwww. C'est Bon!