February 5, 2010
My boyfriend is on his back on my sofa, and I'm stretched out on top of him. Each time I ask if I'm squishing him, he assures me I'm not. Finally, I believe him, and sink into him like he's a Tempur-Pedic mattress. We're snapped together like Lego, secure as jigsaw puzzle pieces, and the only way it could get more delicious would be if … ahhh, here she is: My meatloaf of a cat tiptoes onto the middle of my back and settles in, the cherry on the top of our sofa sundae. Mixed metaphors? Sure, but who cares!