Walk of Shame

"I don't think he's being unreasonable wanting me to stay and have brunch," my wife said, sliding a stocking up her leg, "I've been seeing him for three months, I shouldn't have to sneak away in the middle of the night."

"I just...I just like..."

She looked over. "I know what you like," she said, "don't get me wrong, I like it, too. But I need to consider what he likes, too. You can still do that when I get back, it just won't be as fresh."

"Monica..."

She looked at me, smiled. "You'll enjoy it just the same, don't worry."

"What...what do I tell the kids?"

"The truth," she said. 

"Monica!"

"Not that kind of truth," she scolded me. "The truth they'll think nothing of...mommy's having a sleepover at a friends."

"A...a sleepover," I swallowed.

She got that look on her face. "We'll sleep eventually," she said.

"Help me with my other stocking," she said.

Hands trembling, I picked up her other stocking, slid it up her leg.

"Can you behave till I get back?" she asked.

"Mon..."

"I mean it," she said.

"I...I'll try," I said.

"Don't ruin it, please, you know how fussy you get when you do that."

"I...I will," I said.

"Promise?"

I nodded. "I promise." She knew I did better when I promised her. "Do...do you want me to...to pack anything?"

She gave me a sly grin. "No, I'll do the walk of shame," she said.