I love a flat white.
He loves the fitted whites – the type I loathe. They’re so tight they make the bed feel like a trampoline.
His fitted white didn’t survive the washing machine’s 1400 rpm spin cycle. The sheet doesn’t fit the bed anymore.
Always eager to please in the bed department and knowing how peculiar he can be about his fitted whites, I grab a tube of crazy glue from the desk drawer and stretch my flat white taut over the mattress, gluing each of the four corners underneath until I achieve the bounce effect.
Standing back, initially quite proud of myself, I feel rather faint.
He opens the door. I feign surprise that he’s home so early. He does that. Comes home early, unannounced, perhaps hoping to catch me doing something untoward.
“Can you smell that?” he asks, with a grimace.
“What’s that?” I simper.
“Smells like a glue factory in here,” he says.
“I’m feeling a bit odd,” I say. “Do you want to have sex?”
So, we romp on the flat white, bounce like randy teenagers, and afterwards we pass out.
He thinks it’s from sexual exhaustion.
It’s the glue.
“Want a coffee?” he yawns with that post-sex smugness.
“Yea, make mine a…”
“I got it.”
Published by Ad Hoc Fiction – Flash Fiction Festival Two Anthology – November 2018
