I took some broad to the Hamptons this weekend. It was a nice time, boogeyboarding, the surf, the good food and conversations and all. But as always on mutual excursions, the best memories are in the bedroom. Well, that depends on where you are. A beach in Alaska, even if you’ve got the Mayor with you, isn’t a nice place to be. But after 3 or 4 days on Eastern Long Island, almost 5, I was getting a little scruffy. I guess that’s what happens when you forget your shaving kit and the two of you are all holed up for a weekend getting sweaty and making the room smelly. And as nice and soft as things can be, I guess too much of anything still isn’t on the good side. Because you can see it coming— the agitation— with the little comments, the looks— and especially, the changes of moods and all. And the morning we were supposed to leave, I knew she wanted to already. And not just because she had the place picked out for breakfast either. Because as she laid there on her back reading a book in bed, and me off the side of it doing some push-ups minding my own business watching TV, she caught me off guard when I just heard her say it.
“You need to shave,” she muttered.
“So do you,” I replied.