The night hour was late as Horace and Edith Appleby were preparing for bedtime. The middle-aged couple was a bit tuckered, as they had returned from an evening's gathering with a few friends. So with a yawn or two the twosome went their ways as they changed from their casual apparel to that of loose-fitting bedtime wear.
Horace Appleby chose to prepare his nightly ritual in their large bedroom close to the walk-in closet and the nearby bathroom. Edith, in turn, discreetly removed herself to her dressing table at the opposite side of the room where she removed her evening clothes and prepared for beddy-bye; after arranging her dress on the clothing stand, she sat before the well-lit mirror in her satin negligee, removing cosmetics and beauty aids, and adding creams and lotions.
Horace was seen as a fine figure of man with a finely-toned body that belied his middling years. His well-barbered dark hair covered a ruddy facial complexion with cheerful blue eyes that shone above a slight aquiline nose; the white of his teeth was ready in a smile when he opened his full mouth in talk. The good man was a compliment to the looks of his pretty wife; she was a perky blonde, well-shaped and curvaceous in figure, that would afford admiring glances.
"Yes, the party was pleasant affair, but I can't understand Josh and his wife Betty serving simple cheese and vegetable hors d'oeuvres," as he removed his blue blazer, well-padded in the shoulders, which he placed on a hanger in the closet.
"I had wondered about it myself," Edith answered casually.
"As if we were on a diet," he continued when he loosened his trousers and opened his shirt to unfasten the corset band around his waist, which loosened the flab of his belly.
"Don't understand their cousin Jim wearing those high heel boots and tiptoeing when he danced with his wife Beatrice," he commented as sat on a nearby chair in order to remove his Adler shoes with the hidden raised heels.
"It looked rather odd! Didn't it!" she replied.
"Ahhh, that's better," Horace sighed as he uncovered his legs from the elastic stockings and his feet from the arch supports. Then, with an additional sigh, he lightly scratched his varicose-veined legs.
Then his trousers and shirt followed in the removal from his body to join his sport jacket. Then, after a pull to his boxer shorts and a scratch to his under vest, he fitted himself in flannel pajamas.
Then the tubby chap waddled into the adjacent bathroom on his stubby legs to complete his toilet before turning to a restful sleep on the bed's orthopedic mattress.
Horace looked at himself reflected on the large ornate wall-mirror as he called out a comment or two about the few guests at the affair trying to look younger in their middling years. "I wonder if Henry's hair is....." he shouted as he removed his well-fitted toupee and arranged it on a dummy head set on a corner shelf.
"Can't understand what you are saying!"
Horace Appleby discounted the words of his wife and continued to comment on the youthful appearances of his friends at the party as his removed lower and upper bridges from his mouth, which he dipped them into a glass. Then he placed the glass and contents in the large medicine cabinet above the sink.
He opened the chrome water taps and sluiced off the touch-up makeup from his creased features and the blacking on his eyebrows. "I wonder how old is Phyllis; with all her makeup, one can't tell!" he continued in his loud comments. But his wife's replies were simply 'yes dear' as she was unable to hear his words clearly.
When he looked into mirror in search of a pimple or two he faced himself looking as bald as a proverbial cucumber, gap-toothed in an open mouth, and slouched in form. Then with a non-caring attitude he continued his toilet by brushing the brushing his few remaining teeth and gargling his throat with mouthwash.
A few mumbled words on the party guests' attempts to look younger than their age were forwarded without a care for an answer. Then Horace opened the cupboard, searched through medicine bottles 'til he found the required one. His nightly dosage of a couple of pills were then removed from their containers in the cupboard and swallowed with the gulping of a glass of tap water.
Horace, after finishing his nightly toilet ritual, then pounded his belly lightly with his fist and issuing forth a loud belch. "Ahhh,' he expressed with a satisfied sigh, 'that's better!" Then he looked about the room for a check or two, flicked the light switch to close and waddled from the bathroom.
The bedroom was darkened, except for a dim night lamp, when Horace stepped in and walked to the double bed. He turned the sheets and blanket and plopped himself on the orthopedic mattress. Before covering himself he turned to his ever beloved for a good night wish.
But his darling was deep in sleep, snoring lightly in inhaling and wheezing softly in exhaling. Horace looked where his Edith had placed her pretty head on the pillow and he saw a head whitened in creams with eyes dabbed in lotion, a chin tucked in with a chinstrap and strands of gray hair banded in cloth. As he looked for a moment at the covered form he hardly noticed that the bulge of her thin body fitted a little more than half the length of her side of the bed.
Then with slight 'burp' he settled himself under warmth of the covering. With a soft whisper to his lips he wished his sleeping wife a 'GOOD NIGHT' – and before long his mouth was agape and his somewhat loud snoring was in tune with the slight sonorous breathing of his darling Edith.
Norman A. Rubin of Afula, Israel is a former correspondent for the Continental News Service, USA. He's written on Near East culture and crafts, archaeology, history and politics; religious history and rites, etc. He's been featured in publications world wide - Jerusalem Post, Israel - Coin News, Minerva, Oriental Arts, etc. England - Ararat, Letter Arts Review, Archaeology, etc. USA - Spotlight, Japan - International B, Hong Kong. He's been a freelance writer for the past sixteen years of short stories of all genres - mystery, horror, humour, sexual customs, etc.