a family heirloom, from one of her great grandparents. It was past seven. No big shock, but still, dinner was more enjoyable when her Husband took his place at the table's head. The other end was her seat, but she preferred to sit alongside him. Their daughter, Molly sat on her other side, their son sat across, alongside his father.
Molly lifted the 2/3rds second meatloaf from the serving platter and set it into a pyrex loaf pan. The scalloped potatoes were already cooling in a small dish. The salad and a cake - leftover from Sunday - each sat in rectangular plastic containers. Molly loaded the dishwasher, with the plates her mom had prewashed in the sink.
"Mom, why is it, when guys do, they're the big hero, but when girls..."
Her mother paused at that one, which seemed to come out of nowhere. To any recollection, her daughter had never talked about boys - only that Tim kid, to which she'd overheard Molly, during the Labor Day festivities in town, say to him, "Shut. UP." Then away, with two or three of her friends. Yeah, there was one boy, but the two rarely spoke - except for a few minutes here and there. And once they both sat at a table outside the coffee shop.
When Molly went places, it was with a group. Her daughter had goals, and didn't want to ruin that, over some player. Yep, the Lord's restraining grace, couldn't be anything other. At fifteen, the girl was...like her gran's generation put it, "built like a brick house." That phrase, no longer in use, because it was considered objectifying.
"Sweetie," her father's voice came from around the corner, accompanied by the light thunk of his laptop case being parked on a small table just inside the front door. "Boys like that, grow up, get jobs..." Her father paused, then added. "And their sups have to check their...hmmph, work."
He gave his wife a quick peck on her lips. While, with one hand, he grabbed a fork, with the other, the loaf pan and headed for the dining room.
"Honey," his wife called after, "please, let me warm your dinner, will only take..."
"Nothing doing, I'm hungry."
But before the castle's King could make off with the previously baked booty, Molly kissed the man's forehead. "Thankyou, Daddy!"
What was that all about? The man wondered...for about a second. Hardly a few minutes later, came the sound of pyrex meeting stainless steel, and accompanied by a fluidy swish.
Every tuesday evening, from 8:30 to 9pm aired a "Nixon Years" installment. Was castle King's favorite program - that is, next to thursday's ... "Washington In Focus." Not even ten minutes into the cracker-dry documentary, Sire was asleep upon his easy chair. His queen, working some crochet, gazed momentarily at her snoring lord, still in his suit, his shirt stained with meatloaf juice. She let out a quiet sigh.
No undefiled fun in bed tonight.
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