I've been on a hunting trip to Louisiana with Fuzzy, and we had a blast. It's always good to see kin, and being able to also see ducks was just icing on the cake.
We shared a room at the local hotel. Not a great room, but comfortable enough with dual twin beds and a serviceable shower. It's really all we need.
A couple of nights ago, I woke to go use the facilities as middle-aged men are wont to do. Having done my business, I climbed back into my bed to resume my slumber, when Fuzzy reached out and touched me.
What the hell is he doing in my bed?
I cracked open an eye. Was I in the right spot? I had made a similar error many years before on a hunting trip and it was damned embarrassing. No, I was where I needed to be.
Hey, wait a minute. I'm home. My bed partner is actually my wife.
Thank God.
I think it's easy to say I've seen way too much of Fuzzy these past couple of days.
Dorothy was right - there is no place like home.
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