Tuesday Date Night Script (Borrow at Your Leisure)

I can tell she's in a strange place.
She's wishy washy. Uncertain.
Her emotions are volatile and running rampantly roughshod over her peace of mind.
It's my place and job to meet her unvoiced expectation that I smooth all that out with my naturally constant state of self certainty.
You are the rock.
She is the tempestuous ocean lapping up upon the

I send her a short text clarifying when she should leave work, what to do on her way home, and what I'll be making for dinner.
I don't text her for hours after that when she confirms.

I don't ask her what she wants.
I don't ask what her schedule looks like.
I don't ask what her evening plans are.
I don't give her choices.
I decide these things for her and she is thankful. She can capitulate, concede, acquiesce and she feels safe and relieved in exchange.

I don't say much to her when I arrive.
I tell her what to go put on for me to see her in whilst I cook.
I give her a quick kiss on the cheek, I let her wrap her arms around me, give her a brief, big squeeze, then pat her on the ass and tell her to run along while I cook with a half smile.

I cook and she looks at me longingly, playing with her computer, but looking up at me continually, girlishly, coquettishly, and carefree. The tempest of the outside world fades from her awareness, and she returns to her base state of girlishness and sweetness.

She comes up from behind and gropes me, admiring my chest and my arms and my hips, her small hands tugging at them the way she does when I'm on top of her. She kisses my neck, rests her head on my shoulder and says she can't wait to eat.

She squeezes in between the stove and I, and rests her head on my chest.