It was the night after Christmas and all through the house was the sound of contented sleep. Well mostly.
With full bellies, satisfied and exhausted children slept dreaming of the fun to come the next day when their parents would sleep in and demand that on Boxing Day nothing happened and everyone did their own thing and in particular left them alone.
The parents in their bed, relaxed into the knowledge that Christmas for another year was over, the rush and panic of getting it all together was now a memory they wished to forget.
The father farted with a sense of relief; his wife rolled away to avoid the repercussions of his bodily functions and wondered if he gave any thought to making love to her.
The wife was pleased Christmas was over too. It had been a hectic time organising gifts, hiding them from nosey children and getting the Christmas lunch organised.
This year they had bought their eldest a bike. Santa’s joke on parents was to find the bike came in parts, in a box with confusing directions. It had been almost 2am before they’d taken themselves to bed after arguing about which part of the bike went where and why it didn’t.
Christmas Day was pretty much a blur as it rolled past them. With the children at them showing what Santa had bought and then the neighbours arriving with more enthusiasm than was truly decent, the parents felt worn out and fatigued beyond belief.
The husband’s snoring put to rest any romantic urges the wife had, so as she so often did turned her mind to fantasy.
The young man at the checkout looked a likely type and she turned her mind to imagining what lay beneath his uniform.
Written for: https://new2writing.wordpress.com/2021/12/16/writephoto-snowy-peaks/