*Author’s note: If you are easily offended, you probably should stop reading now.

When we bought our shop two-and-a-half years ago, BB got it in his head that we needed to “christen” the new location, kind of like a dog marking its territory.

When I say “christen,” I mean, seal the deal by making love on any flat surface that would support our weight. At the time, he was 45. I was 46.

That was a tradition of ours. A spill over from our youth. Any new location we found ourselves in, especially when he was posted overseas in the ’80s, BB would get a sly grin on his face, raise one eyebrow and say to me, “You wanna?”

I won’t bore you with the morality of those choices.

And usually, that’s all it would take. It was likely the sense of adventure, the fear of getting caught or the adrenalin rush. Who knows? We were just a couple of horny 20-somethings.

I won’t bore you with the morality of those choices.

Every flat surface, every location, we christened.

Our best friends, John and Tina, called us “The Minks.” Every time they phoned us for a game of cards, we were “indisposed.”

Wistfully wanting to relive his youth, BB forgot he’s over 45 and not under 25 with two bad knees, high blood pressure, a bad back, sleep apnea and a hearing aid.

He was on a hunt for a sturdy flat surface at the new shop.

There was the new work bench, four feet off the ground, solid, covered in rubber matting, surrounded by power tools.

BB:  “Looks pretty sturdy to me.” (He wiggles his eyebrows and hits the bench with his fist.

Me: “You’re nuts. I need a ladder. No way.”

A couple of days later in the lunch room, he spies the coffee table for the first time.

BB: “Hun? This is lower to the ground. Looks pretty sturdy to me.” He pushes down on it with both hands.

Me: “No. I’ll slide off and hit my head on the radiator. Forget it.”

BB rolls his eyes. A few more days go by.

BB: “What about the new office?”

Me: “What about it?”

BB: “We could do it there.”

Me: “Where?”

BB: “On the floor.”

Me: “We’ll get slivers.”

BB: “We’ll put a blanket down.”

Me: “How romantic.”

BB: “C’mon. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Me: “Back home on my Sealy Posturpedic mattress.”

A few months later, there’s a new love seat in the office.

BB: (sits down and pats the cushion beside him. He winks.) “This has potential. Sit down.”

Me: (sitting). “Not bad.”

BB: “Yah. Not bad at all. Wuddaya think?”

And so it goes, like the never ending story.

Me: “Too short. Whoever’s on the bottom will get a kink in their neck and it ain’t gonna be me. Nope. No way.”

And so it goes, like the never ending story. He finds a new spot. Calls me over. I give him a few words of encouragement. He gets his hopes up. And then he forgets about it.

Finally he cracked.

BB: “Why don’t you want to do it in the shop? You keep making excuses!”

Me: “No I’m not! But this is a TOOL REPAIR SHOP. It is DIRTY. There is nothing soft or romantic about it.”

BB: “There was a time when this wouldn’t have bothered you.”

Me: “But that was when I had rubber bands for joints and you had the stamina of a Clydesdale horse! You’re gonna kill me in here!”

BB: “At least you’ll die happy,” he smirks.

Me: “You’re a pig.”

BB: “But I’m a lovable pig.”