Excerpt: The Care & Feeding of Mancubs: An Owner's Manual

The Care & Feeding of Mancubs: An Owner’s Manual

To my sister Margaret

Chapter One

He folded over the fluffy material once, then twice, on the third time he neatly smoothed flat its soft surface. He smiled at me, very proud of himself.
“Oh for God’s sake,” I yelled. “Stop folding my towels!”
His face fell, as did his hands from the towels. A puppy dog look, the one that I adored appeared. “But I thought,” he began.
I held up my hand to stop him. And to replace his puppy dog look a pout appeared. It was so genuine and so pathetic, I immediately felt guilty that I had been so cross.
“I thought you liked your towels folded that way,” continued my puppy dog. He had been putting away laundry I had left in the basket. I got out of bed and put the towels away in the bathroom closet, stuffing them in rather hastily. “Well of course I do, it’s just…” I was searching for words.
“Just what?” He cut me off; his hurt puppy dog look grew more intensely pouty, as if that were at all possible.
“Well, it’s just that I don’t need them folded right now,” I said calmly. I mentally patted myself on the back. Phew, way to came through Bethany, old girl!
His puppy dog look melted a bit. “I’m just trying to be considerate,” he relented.
“And you are darling, you are,” I said trying to be encouraging.
“But you snapped at me,” he responded climbing into his briefs and thrusting his arms through his shirt.
“No, no,” I bit down on my words to conceal my frustration and impatience. “I did not snap, be reasonable darling, come back to bed.” I slid under the still warm bedclothes and tossed the covers aside invitingly.
He dallied a moment—probably for effect—then, obeyed. He playfully tossed off his shirt, crawled into bed and hugged me tight. A little too tight.