The Labyrinth of Life

Wednesday, December 28, 2005


I had a revelation over the Christmas weekend when the husband and I were home alone together for three days recovering from whatever nasty bug has taken over our bodies. It became crystal clear to me the true meaning of intimacy (you thought I was going to say the true meaning of Christmas, didn't you).

When previously thinking of the meaning of intimacy in my life, I have always connected it with two people physically connected, not necessarily bumping fuzzies, but touching one another in some way. It dawned on me as we were coughing, sneezing, shaking with chills, fighting our fevers, that there was nothing more intimate than being perfectly comfortable and uninhibited sharing space with each other when we were at our most absolute worst. I felt more in love with the man than if we had spent the whole weekend making mad, passionate love.

Perhaps we'll do that next weekend!


  • At 6:43 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    That's icky talk

  • At 7:41 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    But please remember to bump fuzzies every now and again or "he" might decide to bump another more hospitable fuzzy.

  • At 1:54 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    The only fuzzy you should be bumping is that dust bunny under the couch. Nothing like some hard work to make one forget about such nonsense. Make your man a nice meal while he watches his favorite programs (pre-circled in the TV Guide) and enjoys a nice cigar. Rub his feet and put his cozy slippers on. A cocktail before dinner is always a nice treat. Then when dinner is finished and you've done the dishes and cleaned up and asked about your hubby's day, you should retire to the bedroom and offer yourself to him.


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