Love Boat by Mike DiChristina

For our fiftieth anniversary they send us on a cruise. We’re in bed in our stateroom aboard the Belle of the Caribbean watching “Love Boat” reruns when the wife says, “I think a threesome might spice things up.” “This is family television,” I tell her. “I meant for us, something to get us out of our rut.” “How about a tattoo?” I say. “I’m serious,” she says. She rolls over and grabs the remote with her well-manicured hand. “I didn’t see ‘Hot Three-Way Action on the Promenade Deck at noon’ on the activity poster,” I say. “It sounds like fun,” she says. Her plucked eyebrows jump when she says ‘fun’. “You wouldn’t know where to start.” “I googled it. I’d just dive right in.” “What kind of threesome are we talking about?” I say. She clicks off the TV. “I hadn’t thought about that,” she says. “Does it matter?” I snort. “Well, actually, yes, it does matter.” She slides over and curls up next to me, nibbling on my sunburned ear. “Are there some combinations you would consider?” “Sure,” I say. “Assuming you’re there.” I sit up. “Now I’m not even in the room?” “You could watch,” she says. “Or run the camera.” “I could tweet it.” “We could find somebody onboard. The Pirate Lounge looks promising.” “Like Johnny Depp?” I say. “Remember Amy? I think she’d be up for it,” she says. I meet my wife’s eyes. “Amy? From snorkeling?” “Amy from snorkeling.” “I don’t like redheads,” I say.

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