He marched into the kitchen where I was cleaning counters, carrying a magazine. Excited.
“Is there a place around here that isn’t wet?” he said. “Somewhere you haven’t been??”
Then he opened the magazine to a photo of a drowsy young woman lying on her back in bed, smiling up at us.
“See, she looks just like you do in the morning light. Reddish hair, small breasts and silky white skin. Just like you. See?” I looked at the photo and smiled. Just like her.