The bed opposite my wooden chair was folded, pressed, and wrinkle free. I had made it this morning, after my husband finally managed to get up. Now I sit across from my handiwork to watch his instead. My legs crossed with both arms resting on the support of the chair I relaxed my back against it. A swirl of red wine to match my small black dress might have one mistake me for the lady of the evening. No expense should be reserved when you witness art, that's what I say, especially when the art can glance back.
I set a few candles on both bedside tables to accent and draw attention away from the audience. Usually my husband likes to prepare the scene but today I requested the honor. Something about small pleasures I found unusually indulgent today. The wooden frame of our bed was a strong dark acacia. It squeaked only at the roughest and vibrant forms of use, hiding much of our deviance from unwanted guests. The cover was thin and smooth, with a patterned baby blue texture. Cool and smoother underneath, was my favorite silk sheet. Precious few performers were worthy of this stage, but todays supporting actress is exceptional.