[Jimbo]

This is sort of fishing related, but it's all I got and I want the parrot. It was after a trip I'd made solo to the Cape for a few days early this Spring. True story as I recall it.

Well it all began when I returned home from my dangerous and very fulfilling fishing trip in the perilous waters at the Cape of Cod. My woman was waiting for my return as though she had been looking toward the horizon since my departure, waiting, no yearning, for her old man to come home from the sea. (It was sort of like a cross between an Old Spice commercial and the end of that song, "If You Like Pina Coladas and Getting Caught in the Rain"). I believe it was my rough, unshaven demeanor, my shirt which said, "Kiss My Bass" and my dirty, ripped jeans which revealed just a hint of the black watch pattern boxers I was wearing underneath, maybe a wisp of pogy scent or possibly a couple too many beers certainly didn't ruin the mood (I'm sure it made me look even more lusty in her eyes). So you can see the house oozed passion...an emotion to which I was no stranger. BUT! With two young children in close proximity it would indeed be difficult to satiate her full and unbridled lust. Finally, I had the forethought to put on an old AMC movie which made them fall asleep on the couch and Lazy Boy and at once Mother and I took advantage of the break and bounded up the stairs to our love lair above. Well, more like she walked because her knee is bothering her and I pretty much staggered. From that point on it was like a checklist: Clothes off...check.....get in bed...check....see to her pre-lovemaking needs...check....then there was this voice in my ear, "Jim, don't you think you ought to lock the door in case Hannah wakes up and comes looking for us?" Frig! I was just about to use one of my patented moves on her, and she calls a mandatory time out. "Oh all right, I responded," and I bounded out of bed temporarily switching from her needs to her order. Fumbling in the dark, this was a task I knew I could accomplish with great speed and even intoxicated, but something was amiss. "What's taking so long?" a voice from the direction of the bed said. I was devastated and even began losing staying power. I panicked and said, "I can't believe it! When the painters removed the door handle to paint they must have put it back on backwards. THE LOCK IS ON THE OUTSIDE! What are we going to do?" So I'm ready to mount her like Roosevelt's head on Rushmore and we can't lock the door! "Well think of something" she demanded. Then it dawned on me. If I couldn't lock the damn thing I'd at least block it for the minute or two, at most, that I'd need to perform my obligatory husbandly duty. I dumped the contents of the dirty laundry hamper and piled it high against the door. It was surely an immovable force no seven year old could get thru. Finally I was back "in the saddle" so to speak. Things were progressing per normal for a lover of my calibre and experience, when there was a noise barely audible over my partner's shrieking shouts of ecstatic nonsense which is par normal for women to do when I am at the top of my game. Pausing briefly, there it was again, we could hear the door handle being tried, then a seven year old like voice and pushing against the door and saying, "This door is stuck! There is something behind the door that's making it hard for me to open, but I think I can get in." Curses, foiled again! Eventually we would get her to sleep and accomplish our mutual goal, but it would be the wee hours and the access security of our love chamber would only then be realized by the use of the traditional chair propped against the handle of the door.