Team handling
Copyright © 2008 Lusty Library
‘This package requires team handling’ was the legend on the side of the cardboard box that had held the neighbours’ new washing machine. I noticed it as I was parking the car at the end of another working day. The phrase made me chuckle and reminded me of my earliest days with Jen, my wife of just over twenty years. Once inside I opened a glass of wine, flopped down into an armchair and let my mind drift back more than two decades.We first met in the Christmas of ’84 when we were both in our last year of University. The party was in full swing around me, ‘Do they know it’s Christmas’ blasting out for the I-don’t-know-how-many-eth time that evening when I first saw her. I remember thinking, ‘Just how much lace can one woman wear?’ but then I noticed just how glorious her legs were and what an exquisite arse she had and I knew she had me hooked.‘Faint heart and all that, Graham’ I was thinking as I approached her and opened with some politically correct line, probably something about apartheid or Nelson Mandela (who, I had recently found out needed to be free but wasn’t).She just looked at me with a mixture of pity and confusion before saying, ‘What?’Changing tack quickly, I asked her who she had come to the party with, hoping some shared acquaintance might provide an easy topic of conversation. Looking around she pointed across the room, ‘Dave Stemmons. You know him?’‘Know of him’, ...
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‘This package requires team handling’ was the legend on the side of the cardboard box that had held the neighbours’ new washing machine. I noticed it as I was parking the car at the end of another working day. The phrase made me chuckle and reminded me of my earliest days with Jen, my wife of just over twenty years. Once inside I opened a glass of wine, flopped down into an armchair and let my mind drift back more than two decades.We first met in the Christmas of ’84 when we were both in our last year of University. The party was in full swing around me, ‘Do they know it’s Christmas’ blasting out for the I-don’t-know-how-many-eth time that evening when I first saw her. I remember thinking, ‘Just how much lace can one woman wear?’ but then I noticed just how glorious her legs were and what an exquisite arse she had and I knew she had me hooked.‘Faint heart and all that, Graham’ I was thinking as I approached her and opened with some politically correct line, probably something about apartheid or Nelson Mandela (who, I had recently found out needed to be free but wasn’t).She just looked at me with a mixture of pity and confusion before saying, ‘What?’Changing tack quickly, I asked her who she had come to the party with, hoping some shared acquaintance might provide an easy topic of conversation. Looking around she pointed across the room, ‘Dave Stemmons. You know him?’‘Know of him’, ...
Get The Full Story At Lusty Library
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