Last evening, it so happened that as I walked into my house after a tiring long day at office, I found my wife presenting a blank (and unfriendly) face to me. It was obvious to me that she was peeved about something. Mentally, I tried to prepare myself for the long battle (of cajoling) ahead. But feigning ignorance, I just threw a casual remark towards her, “So, how was the day.”
She gave me a venomous look. And then it donned on me that I had promised to take her to the cinema that evening. But since I was already late and had completely forgotten about the deal, she had allowed her temper to rise dramatically.
It was then that I took out the bottle of Black Dog and put it on the table, where it lay right within her viewing range. I had bought the Scotch bottle on my way to home, and even though my objective behind its purchase was to double up my football-watching fun later in the night, I realized that Black Dog is the only way I could wriggle out of this tricky situation.
My wife eyed it. Her expression was inscrutable, though I knew that her hormone levels had greedily risen. I uncorked the bottle and the Scotch flew out with a hiss. Her eyes were now trained on the bottle and I could see some beads of sweat showing on her brows. Anticipation had hit the climax. She was certainly aroused. I poured the aromatic and amber-colored Scotch into a glass. I wanted her to make the first move. And she did.
The lion had smelt the blood. She hastened over by the table. That temper had given way to a playful smile. I handed the glass to her and poured myself another one. I sipped at the Black Dog, she drank hers deeply. I looked up at her face. Her eyes bore a naughty glint. With a motion of a finger, she led me over to the couch and unhooked her button.
[Black Dog evenings are romantic. They definitely ignite the missing spark in marriages, and make you live-in-style.]