The weather today was befitting my mood…melancholy. I didn’t feel bad. I just felt blah; kind of devoid of emotion and feeling. It is common with my medications. The sky was cloudy and grey with a cool breeze and the weather guessers say rain is on the way, although I will believe it when I see it. It has been so dry here and we are seven inches behind on our rainfall total for the year.
I stopped down at the shopping center, but none of the gang was to be found. So I carried on over to Rosa’s house hoping she would spice up my day and she did. She was in a wild and suggestive mood. She answered her door still in her pajamas which consisted of sweat pants and a cotton t-shirt with no bra on. I must add that Rosa is quite well endowed as far as the breast region of her chest is concerned and her “headlights” were on full bore. I couldn’t help but stare.
“I was hoping I would get to see you,” Rosa told me, demurely, as I stepped inside.
The smell of something wonderful cooking was emanating out of the kitchen. I walked in and pulled the lid off the pot, curious.
“Spaghetti!” I exclaimed. “Awesome. That is my favorite.”
“You gonna stay for lunch?”
“I just ate at Rodger’s,” I replied. “Today is meatloaf day and I never miss it. It’s my favorite meal.”
I stood by the stove as Rosa began to boil some pasta and occasionally stirred the spaghetti sauce. My eyes kept wandering down to stare at Rosa’s chest. I felt like a dirty old man.
“You like what you see?” Rosa then asked, embarrassing me. “You keep staring at my tits.”
I laughed nervously diverting my eyes. Rosa smiled. She is not much one to mince words and although it can be startling at times, I do like this about her.
Rosa then finished the pasta and pulled out a plate. Upon the pasta, she used a 1-cup measuring cup to pour over a generous serving of pasta sauce. She then took her plate into her den to sit on the couch to eat. I followed her and sat watching the television. Rosa let me have a bite of the spaghetti to taste it. I had never tried Rosa’s cooking before and I have to admit, the spaghetti was delicious.
I finally grew bored with the television and Rosa was intent on being a homebody today. So I left to continue with my daily hike with the noontime hour finding me walking up my driveway to home. My father had come by while I was away to do a beer check. He left me a note on my radio explaining that he had been by. I smiled. Used to, such an occurrence would upset me. I realize this is more for dad than it is for me. It gives him peace of mind and also keeps me on my toes so to speak by having someone checking up on me. Isn’t it hard to believe I am 35 years old? I shudder to think what some of you must think about me. I need to quit sharing such overly honest and forward stuff on my blog.