70 and Sunny

Let me set the scene for you. Imagine yesterday, sunny and beautiful, with a cool breeze coming from the west. We're all outside. I'm sitting in the big lawn chair on the concrete in front of the Butcher's car. The dog is laying in the shade of my car. I'm finishing up the work I had to bring home in order to feel okay about taking Friday off. The cats are both sleeping in the dirt under the front bushes and the Butcher is hitting what appear to be tiny wiffle balls around the yard with his one golf club, which is, for some reason, spraypainted green. Occasionally, I say something to the Butcher like, "I told the Shill I was going to taunt her husband about the fact that she will never make those awesome Jello peanut butter cup things for him because he doesn't allow her in the kitchen... You should totally go to the store and get some of those." "Woman, we ate cookies for breakfast!" He says back to me, pretending to be annoyed. And then we're back to our respective silences. All afternoon we spend out in that glorious day. Now, I'm sunburnt and headed back to work. It's just not fair.