Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
And yes, there was the occasional craziness in my house, but even that turned out all right
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
JANUARY 2020
Hello, all, happy 2020! I hope you all had lovely holidays. We here at the Kage household had strange ones, because we had a bit of a scare a couple days before Christmas.
I was crossing the street close to work when a car came through the crosswalk and hit me. I know! Insane. It turned out the guy was drunk—I was thankful he hit me and not the young father I was talking to, pushing his baby in a very high-end stroller a few feet in front—and he awaits trial. Apparently, he is fine with being incarcerated after meeting with my husband, the chief deputy. By all accounts, that did not go well. Duncan said it took him and three of his guys to make sure that Sam didn’t put the guy through a wall. He plans to speak at the hearing where the judge decides what happens to him. I told Kola, because he’s going as well, that the guy needs a treatment program. Normally my son is the soul of logic, but from his face when I had my hand on his cheek, I’m guessing not this time. I had no idea he had a bit of vengeance in him. I won’t even go into the bloodthirst of my daughter.
Needless to say, we had Christmas in the hospital, and because I had a concussion that made me a little loopy and that, along with a broken leg—the hell of crutches—put me there instead of home stuffing stockings and wrapping gifts. Early Christmas morning my family was there with baked goods for the staff, fresh coffee, and Hannah made the kolachkis that I normally make. Sam’s mom says kolacky, I say kolachki, but it’s the same thing. It’s crescent rolls, and inside is crumbled meat mixed with cream cheese and scrambled eggs. Some people hate it, some love it. My family has them every Christmas morning, and I’ve seen Kola put away sixteen of them in one sitting. I no longer have his metabolism, so I don’t have that many. My husband can also put them away, but he goes for a run every day and lifts weights and swims so he can also eat what he likes. My treadmill and I have a love/hate relationship. More about this at another time.
Anyway, I’m fine now, fully recovered but for the stupid cast and the aforementioned lame crutches. I am working from home because I don’t have my “Sam” release yet. The doctor said I’m good to go. My husband…still a bit skittish. I finally got lucky the other night—took for freaking ever to convince the man that an orgasm wouldn’t make my brain explode—he takes the concussion stuff seriously. But I think my chances of being allowed outside are improving. It’s about 60/40 at this point. This is all to say that I don’t have my normal crazy holiday adventures to report, and instead I went through questions at the hospital, and visiting friends and family typed them up for me. So without further ado, here is He Said, he said, January 2020.
DEAR JORY:
My sex life with my husband has fallen off quite a bit this past year, to the point where I actually asked him if he was having an affair right before Halloween. He wasn’t, and then let me know that it simply wasn’t as important to him as it used to be. I told him that it was still very important to me, and he said to just let him know when I wanted it and he would accommodate me. His words nearly killed me. I don’t want to be “accommodated,” I want passion! Please advise.
Jory: I think they should go to a marriage counselor.
Dylan: Is that what you want me to write?
Jory: Don’t you think so?
Dylan: I think he’s having an affair.
Jory: She said she asked him. Why are you so jaded?
Dylan: If your husband said that to you—he’d accommodate you—what would you say?
Jory: …
Dylan: Don’t grunt, answer.
Jory: I would be devastated.
Dylan: And suspicious, because you know Sam likes to have sex, and if he’s not into it anymore, then there has to be a reason.
Jory: Yeah, but bodies change, drives change, hormones—it could be any number of things.
Dylan: So you could tell her that. First, have both you and your hubby checked out. If she’s wanting it, like, ten times a day, she might have some weird brain tumor that’s pressing on a certain part of her brain. I remember that on Ally McBeal years ago, and the president on Madam Secretary got all bloodthirsty from a brain tumor too.
Jory: It doesn’t sound like she’s wanting sex any more than normal.
Dylan: Yeah, but this way when she mentions to her husband that he has to get checked out, it doesn’t sound so bad. She’ll be in solidarity with him because she’ll go to the doctor too.