One of the ways of loving your wife is "do not let her see you become excited about the physical features of another woman if that bothers her"
Do you agree?
CATCH-UP
CATCH-UP a.k.a CUP is a video/literary capture of products, services, organizations, and places across the globe designed to bring up to speed all that their target audiences need to know. CUP is designed for weekly publication on the SEB.
FLAUNT YOUR LEISURE
Leisure is highly therapeutic to the human psychic and well-being. Aside from many not creating personal schedules or moments for relaxation, some persons have been saddled with leisure as a necessary routine for mankind. Yet we have some others who are living in ignorance about the essence and various ways of self-relaxation.
Submitted into Contest #188 Tom Bombadil writes about a character who’s attending a dinner thrown in their honor, but deeply embarrasses themself during their speech.... view prompt
“Stop daydreaming Mr. Delano.”
In a moment, Mrs. Frampton, subjecting the tender wallflower of my affection to the grotesque spotlight of her own indifference, made cease the contemplation of my life’s own end, the one theme of my existence: Andrea Taylor.
It’s the Spring of 2005; I am a 7th grader at Fort Sumter Middle School, home of the Trojans. Andrea sits enthroned one row ahead, three columns to my right. I have mixed feelings about this, for while it affords me an almost uninterrupted view of her during second and fifth period, it also places her immediately adjacent to Kyle Schwimmer: another seventh grader, possessed of summit-less bicep peaks, which forces me to a fixed conclusion that he’s been injecting steroids intravenously since infancy, and whose hair, defying no less than two laws of thermodynamics, I am sure, manages to appear wet and shiny hours after we all have a just expectation that it should be dry. I despise Kyle Schwimmer.
Andrea herself, ah! Andrea, crowned with brown tresses, and bangs; layered alternately and Kevlar-like in Abercrombie and Hollister tank tops; floating on a cloud of all-white Etnies; and tastefully adorned in torn and acid-washed denim: if Helen, Esther, Cleopatra, Meghan Fox herself stood before me, they could, collectively, aspire to light but a Yankee-candle of affection before the blast furnace that is my love for Andrea Taylor.
