Handsome Hubby has a New Honey

I’m no longer the apple in Handsome Hubby’s eye. I’ve been replaced. It’s sad but true. My man has a new honey.  

It happened just two Saturday mornings ago.

Ah, yes, Saturday mornings — that once leisurely time of sweet, whispered cuddles and gentle canoodling. But then, two Saturdays ago …

It was 9:31 a.m.

HH turned to me with a passion and intensity I hadn’t seen in some time. (Well, honestly, decades.)

“What do you say?” he whispered excitedly into my ear. “Do you want to get right to it?”

It seemed an abrupt approach, but strangely exciting.

“A-huh,” I replied warily but gamely. “But why don’t you at least give me a minute to brush my teeth.”

“Sure, great, but hurry” he replied with gusto, throwing off the covers with a rush.

“Come on,” he urged, even more excited than before.

Then, suddenly, I realized what all the excitement — more precisely what all his excitement — was about. And as Bob Dylan sang long ago, “It Ain’t Me.”

No, no, no. It wasn’t me.

Meet HH’s New Honey

HH’s new love had that glow and shine and shimmer of youth and a hard, firm body to boot! No wrinkles. No dents. And talk about tech-savvy. Man, this baby was, as they say, fully loaded. And once she got started, she purred like a kitten. Even I had to admit it, she was one hot number.

But then, given her fancy price tag, she should!

And, of course, if you haven’t caught on by now, HH’s new love is a car. Not just any car, mind you, for not just any car would do for my energy-efficient, clean energy White Knight. No, after a year-and-one-half wait, HH’s dream car finally had rolled off the assembly line and into our garage. It’s a snazzy all-electric Ford Mustang Mach-E. VROOM, baby, VROOM!!!

Now, this is not the Mustang of our youth, mind you. In addition to being all-electric — with an impressive range of 300 miles between charges — it’s an SUV. So it’s a thrill for gals, not just guys. It’s roomy with plenty of space for groceries, shopping sprees, and the drooling dog

But still, it’s that all-electric, multi-mile range that’s got HH’s heart beating to beat the proverbial band.

When we arrived at the dealership to pick up the car, he turned to me. Suddenly it was like a scene from a romance novel. Cue the violins. HH’s eyes misted up. Gently placing his hand on my shoulder, his voice cracking slightly, he spoke:

“Well, sweetie, this is it. Say goodbye to gas stations. We’re forever free.”

(I am not making this up. I am not exaggerating … except about the violins.)

Yes. Good-bye to gas stations, but … Little did I know that I was also saying good-bye to leisurely weekend snuggles. Now, faster than you mutter, “We’re not EVER having Saturday morning sex again,” HH is out of bed and into that damned non-gas-guzzling car and zipping around the San Francisco Bay and beyond.

Apparently, Saturday morning cuddles were good enough during a pandemic when we were stuck at home. But now, fully vaccinated and with a new car, HH is ready to sow his wild vehicular oats. He’s ready to drive to every joint featured on Guy Fieri’s Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives — a TV show HH has watched religiously this past year while sheltered-in-place.

In fact, this Saturday, we zoomed out the door, drove 30+ miles down the California coast to breezy, freezing Pacifica to Gorilla BBQ. Was it “worth the brag,” as a friend of mine used to say? I cannot tell you. After standing on a line that stretched on and on and on FOR AN ETERNITY, HH — teeth chattering and clattering — FINALLY cried “Uncle” and we climbed back into the Mustang Mach-E and barreled home.

Of course, this being the San Francisco Bay, “barreled” is a relative term. We “crawled” across the Bay Bridge and fought our way through traffic.

But did I complain? No, I smiled sweetly and when we finally got home to Berkeley FOUR HOURS LATER still not having eaten lunch, I just hugged my still shivering man and asked if he wanted to get into bed and cuddle. And, as for the rest of the “cuddle,” well, it went according to my devious wifey ways … if you know what I mean.

The natural order of Saturdays was restored. And HH wasn’t complaining. Afterward, we went to our favorite neighborhood rib joint. So, it really was a win-win situation.

Ah, boys and their toys. VROOM! Ah, girls and their boy toys! VROOM! VROOM!!