carl@fire

"Carl."

Carl moved slightly.

"Carl."

Carl groaned.

"Carl, I need you to get up. My eyes are burning."

"Huh?"

"I should've taken the contacts out before we went to sleep. Can you get my eye drops?"

Carl's eyes snapped open, for a certain definition of open. "Oops, sorry," he mumbled, realizing immediately that his mouth tasted especially disgusting.

His wife, Annie, was laying next to him, still mostly under the covers, with her hands pressed to her eyes.

Carl sat up, but it didn't work out the way he planned. An intense soreness struck him at that moment, covering his lower torso and upper legs. He groaned again, then rolled gracelessly out the side of the bed. He staggered across the wood floor of the bedroom around to the other side where their bathroom door was open, vaguely feeling the silky sensation of the discarded purple wig on his bare feet somewhere along the way. He leaned on the doorframe for a moment to stabilize himself, then scrabbled at the cabinet over the toilet until he managed to hook the handle and pry one side of it open.

He scanned the—

"Yellow label," Annie called.

He grabbed the blurry yellow object, then shuffled back to the bed and stood next to it, unscrewing the cap a little. "Here," he said, holding it over his amazing wife's blanket-covered chest.

Her left hand reached down and felt around until it touched his, then slid down and pulled the bottle out of his hand.

"Thanks," she said.

Carl walked back around to his side of the bed and climbed—actually, no, he went back to the bathroom to use the toilet and rinse with some mouthwash, and then he climbed back into his side of the bed.

Annie was just placing the second of her not-currently-glowing, pink contact lenses on her nightstand next to the prosthetic horns when he pulled the blanket back over himself.

"I didn't think you'd like it that much," Annie said as she rolled over to lay on his chest, just as she'd always liked to do if they had a rare morning when neither of them happened to be in a rush.

Carl stared into her blue eyes for a moment, reliving small fragments of the previous night's passion. He grinned. "What can I say. You really get me, and I love you for it."

His wife grinned back. "Love you too. Glad it was worth the effort. Took me forever to track down the right tail."

"Oops."

Annie leaned in and kissed him. "Don't oops me," she said. "It's not like I'd ever need it again."

"You sure?"

"Yup."

"I liked your boots, too."

"They're the same ones from the french maid outfit."

"I thought they looked familiar."

"They fit the look, so I figured why not."

"I'm not complaining."

"I will be if I have to do a lot of walking today."

"Ugh, same."

"We are meeting up with Cheryl and Ted later."

"Do we have to?"

"Carl."

"Okay, okay."

"The girls should be home around noon—Well, Bobby will be, and Sammy's probably staying out with her friends a while longer. We're gonna have to do some scrubbing."

"Yeah, that's—"

"You can get the kitchen. I'll get the couch and the stairs."

"What about—"

"Whoever finishes first gets the dining room table."

"And—"

"Well, I'm not going to clean your office, Carl."

"No, I was just gonna ask if you wanted to shower now, or…"

"Is that what I think… Wow, Carl."

"Ignore that. I can't—"

"I'm flattered. Even after last night, you can still manage to get it up one more time when I'm not wearing my sexy succubus costume?"

"Annie, please—"

"I'm a little sore too, but your night's over. You're not gonna tell me no, are you, Carl?"

"You sure you're not part succubus?"