Beefy Buns

I'm an ass man. Having chanced to see her beautiful buttocks once, I was obsessed with the desire--the need--to view them again, and I devised one ploy after another by which I might satisfy my craving to view her splendid bottom another time.

"Mona," I directed her one afternoon, "take the step ladder--the tall one--outside, and wash the windows. They're filthy."

She gave me an odd look. "Carlos just washed them two days ago."

"He did a terrible job. They're grimy."

She shrugged, but her expression showed me that she thought I was daft, for, in truth, the windows were clean enough. "I'll need help getting the ladder outdoors," she said. "It's cumbersome and heavy. Someone needs to keep the ladder steady, too, while I'm using it."

I rolled my eyes, as if her comments were asinine. In a long-suffering tone, complete with a put-upon expression, I relied, "I'll assist you." Indeed, my providing just such "assistance" had been my purpose, all along, in assigning her the window-cleaning task.

"But you're busy," Mona protested. "Shouldn't you assign Carlos to give me a hand?"

"Carlos is better use to me in cleaning the restrooms," I answered, "unless you'd prefer to switch tasks with him." I knew she wouldn't. Everyone dislikes cleaning the toilets and urinals, but Mona, above all, detests this chore.

"No, no," she demurred. "I'd rather wash the windows."

"Let's get to it, then," I said.

Outside, the day was unusually bright, and the sunlight sparkled on the windows, which, as Mona had reminded me, Carlos had just cleaned two days ago. He'd done an excellent job. The windows were spotless, except for the dried dribble of a pigeon's droppings. I pointed out the white trail, a disgusted tone in my voice as I told Mona, "Carlos has done his usual half-assed job."

"The pigeon could have relieved itself after Carlos washed the windows," Mona observed.