Tzeporah 7

The weekend is unseasonably hot, there is no air conditioning. First we run Tzeporah's curtains (polyester) through the coin laundry downstairs and wash the inside of panes and frames.
Once the curtains are back up, we remove clothes, to work in more comfort.
Yes there is clowning, how would there not be? But we work hard, though nominally the boss I pitch in.
In the kitchen Karen picks up a heavy plastic spatula, swings it several times producing whistling sounds. She sees right through my fascination while pretending to be nonchalant. Joking tone, "like to try?"
"Sure."
"On your hands and knees."
It's a good acting job. For Tzeporah's benefit, it appears to be clowning swings. In reality, it's 24 smoking hot strokes, the secret being in the wrist action.
Tzeporah buys the illusion completely rolling around convulsed in laughter.
Karen's hard pinch and knowing look conveys a promise of more in the future.
Lest she mistake me for lack of interest, I wiggle my butt defiantly, which draws two more pinches, considerably harder.
Less mature people might have spent the rest of the weekend in games of brinksmanship and got caught. An unspoken message passes between Karen and me. Acting as if it was no more than a clown show, we return to cleaning.
Every now and again, when she's sure the coast is clear, she pinches me again, just so I won't forget her. As if I would!