by Joni Haws
Joyce stood in her bra and panties, assessing herself in the full-length mirror. She turned slightly, the light catching the streaks of silver in her up-do, and panned over her reflection. Then she sighed.
The belly button she’d worked for years to keep in a taut yawn grimaced back at her, crunches and carrot sticks notwithstanding. Her knees were inexplicably cushioned. How on earth do you get rid of knee fat, she thought. Glancing up, she praised God that her boobs were tucked neatly inside the lacy bra. They looked so exhausted without one these days, her dejected nipples shying from the limelight. Stretch marks. Wrinkles.
She completely avoided her ass.
Cocking her head she put her hands to her waist and thrust out her chest. Hmm. She jutted out one hip, paused, and groaned. Good Lord, I’m my mother.
“You’re beautiful,” Tom said from the doorway.
Joyce started. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to want to see the rest.”
Joyce wilted. “Oh, stop. I’m such an old bag.”
Tom came up behind her. “Don’t talk about my sexy wife that way. If we didn’t have reservations I’d take you right now.” He turned her around and placed her arms around his waist.
“But I’m not beautiful like I used to be,” Joyce pouted.
Tom lifted her chin. “You’re right.”
“Now you’re spectacularly gorgeous.” His lips traced her jaw, shoulder, collarbone, making her shiver.
“We’ll be late,” Joyce whispered. And she laughed.