Da Goddess

The Pillsbury Poke

We do this thing here that's meant to indicate we're thinking of each other. Or maybe it's just to ensure the meaningful other is still alive. Whatever. We do the Pillsbury Poke. Just a simple index finger to the deltoid is all.

Sometimes we get silly with it. Seeing how often we can do it before the other person gets irritated, starts screaming, and just how many jabs gentle proddings it takes to make the pokee go get the poker a drink. Or fudge. Or glue.

When I woke up earlier today, I looked over at my beloved and saw the Cat That Is A Hat curled about my sweetie's head. I reached over and gave her the Pillsbury Poke.

"Mrr*."

That, for some reason, amused me.

So I did it again.

"Mrr."

I had a little inner giggle over that one. Actually, I fought back laughter.

I poked again.

"Mrr."

I squeezed the tears inside...I didn't want to let on how much I was enjoying the moment.

I poked again.

Nothing.

Huh.

I waited about 30 seconds.

Poke.

Nothing.

Hmm...

30 seconds more.

Poke.

Nothing! Again!

She didn't even flinch.

Imagine that! A refractory period for "mrr."

I exercised every ounce of self-control in my possesion and waited a full 90 seconds this time.

Poke.

NOTHING!

I closed my eyes and counted to 6,000. Forget the Mississippi thing. Just 6,000. 15 minutes (okay, it was probably more like 5) later, I reached over and poked.

"Mrr."

Woo hoo!

I waited about 30 seconds.

Poke.

"Mrr."

Hee hee!

15 seconds.

Poke.

"Mrr."

Laughing silently and starting to quiver, I resisted the urge to poke the cat again.

30 seconds later, I poked her.

Nothing.

Okay. Apparently there's a 3 "mrr" per cycle limit around here.

Not willing to wait for her to rev up again, I decided it was time for the man to awaken. A gentle Pillsbury Poke yielded nothing.

I moved my feet closer. He moved his away. I bumped his butt. He scooted over, away from me.

Oh how I wish I had a picture of that moment. The glint in my eye! I'm certain it gleamed.

Evil plans began to form. I could take over the bed! I could rule the bedroom! The world would be MINE!

I poked my dear one's arm, while adding a subtle hand to the back.

"Mmmpphrmm."

And he scooted over more.

The inner "bwahahahahaha" began to build to an even more sinister level. The cat could feel it. She actually raised her head and looked at me. She pleaded silently not to continue. She was comfortable.

Bah! This had nothing to do with anyone's comfort. This was war playtime!

Poke to the delt.

"Mmmmrrrmmphrrm."

Movement.

More hand pressure to the back with a little knee to the butt.

"Mmmrrmmrrmmphhrrmm."

And he moved more.

Poke, butt push, feet.

"Whuh? Huh? Mmmrrmmphhrmm."

No movement.

Poke, feet, butt push, feet, poke.

"Whuh? What? What?"

Poke.

"WHAT! What do you want?"

"The bed," I replied, sweetly.

"Go to sleep."

"I said - I want the bed," and I giggled, poking him at the same time.

"Oh God. Not again."

At this point, the cat got scared and ran off.

"Aren't you going to abandon the bed, too?" I asked.

"No. I'm going to sleep."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not."

Poke.

"Mmmrrmmphhrrm."

Poke. Poke.

"Stop."

Poke. Poke. Poke.

"Please?"

Poke. Poke. Poke. Butt push. Feet.

"God. You're so weird."

* Not MYRRH....Caspar was unavailable...still, as special and amazing as the "mrr" was, it's not the sort of gift one presents to the newborn King.

Posted by DaGoddess at December 22, 2003 02:48 PM