Two weeks ago I was lying naked on my stomach on a really comfy bed in San Francisco with my eyes closed listening to the city sounds outside the window. It was late afternoon and warm in the room; I was tired and the cacophony of sirens, cars honking, people shouting and cable cars clanging was lulling me into a near-sleep state.
Suddenly ice cold water plunged over my neck and down my back, soaking both my ample torso and the sheets I was lying on. I sat straight up screaming “Damn it!” and looked crabbily at my roommate, a cute tall guy with big hands who had accompanied me to the city and who was suspiciously holding a large empty glass.
“Sorry,” he muttered sheepishly with a sideways grin and a shrug of his shoulders. “I thought it would be sexy to dribble a bit of water on your back and lick it off…but it didn’t quite work out that way.”
And in one small dorky moment of humanity I began to think that happily ever after may not be quite as elusive as I’d thought.