To the ranch!

My husband's cousin called him up about a year after that, saying that he needed his help on his ranch, because it was time to calve. Now, I'm not so much of an ignorant townie to not know that it was when the cows were giving birth, but I was definitely not aware of how involved it could get. So we found a week to take off from work, and flew on down to see what we could do.

The first morning we were there, my husband and his cousin had already been up an hour or so before sunrise, riding around on the tractors, getting whatever it was that needed doing done, while his wife was in the kitchen, getting lunch ready for them and their kids, while I was standing around in zombie mode, trying to stay out of her way, waiting for the coffee to kick in. I think that she was taking it easy on me, because all she did was send me out there a little while later, and in the afternoon, with a couple of thermos', so our guys didn't die from dehydration.

There is something about the combination of engine smoke smell, a bajillion degree heat, the noises of nature, and a (specifically) physical labor based sweat-drenched shirt that makes men insanely sexy. And I especially hated it then because my husband had his sleeves rolled up. That's just plain cheating. If his cousin wasn't there, who knows what would have happened?

(I do. I would have fucked the chubby-loving shit out of him. Right there. Right then. I didn't get to that whole week because the room they gave us was next to the kids' room, but I took every chance I had to practice my ninja beej skills on/with him.)

Anyway, the next day I got put to work. It started off pretty easy, with getting the eggs from the chickens in the morning, to putting the laundry out on a line because they didn't have a dryer, then a few more things around the house, before we all stopped for lunch. After that, I was in the vegetable garden, second round of laundry, then I got a quick lesson in... basically magic. We ran out of bread at lunch, and I watched my in-law's wife just throw some stuff into a bowl, and a few hours later, I was out delivering ham and cheese sandwiches on FRESH BAKED bread, to our boys in the barn. Mind= blown.

Speaking of the barn, that is where I concluded my husband's obsession with my boobs came from. His cousin is a dairy farmer, and therefore had his cows hooked up to those industrial milking machines. Whenever I made my deliveries to them there, I would catch my husband glancing at the machine, to my chest, and then frown, try not to think about it, fail, and shake his head, before focusing very intently on something or other until I left. I didn't say anything, but for weeks after we got back after that trip, whenever he had that faraway look in his eye, I knew what he was thinking about.

So I did something about it.