Surviving marriage - III

Scene: Me and the hubs (did I ever mention that I like calling him that because he is very much the Hobbes to my Calvin) rolling on a mattress, me trying to read Black Holes (from A Brief History of Time) to him, and being distracted for no reason.

He's a sweet, silent little kid when I'm reading to him, except for the occasional bursts of excitement at understanding the plot or the concept being read. It's me who finds it difficult to concentrate while he lies there peacefully, his breathing soft, his eyes focused on me (as if lip-reading rather than hearing) or sometimes closed. How can someone be so big, yet so much like a baby? And he seems so edible, his arm in particular, I want to bite and eat him up as if he were a cup cake. He is so fair and smooth skinned, it's easy to confuse him for a marshmallow. Hee-hee. And the unromantic bugger keeps prodding me to read on. Sigh!

So I was nibbling on him yesterday, when he said innocently as he always does "Mujhe mat khao, please?!"
To which I complained, "But you're so darn edible. And yummy. And mine. Why should I resist that?"
He promptly pushed a little finger into his nose, brought out whatever little he could excavate, and thrusted it threateningly close to my face. "There, eat this. It's edible (we all ate it as children), salty, and yummy."
I hurriedly pushed his snot-adorned finger into his bedsheet, turned back to the page I was at, and continued reading loudly, as if to erase the horrible memory that thankfully-never-came-to-be.