Descriptive Essay On My Beautiful Wife

I’m just a volunteer and I not sure what to look for.” I sighted and just agreed. Ok I’ll wait. Man, at this rate, I’ll never get caught up with my school work. I guess I can’t blame them, is not their fault I am behind with my work. I thought to myself. While I was waiting, my wife was calling me on the phone. I really was thinking not answer the call, but she would just keep calling. Hello. “Did you pick that up?” I’m on my way right now. “That was an hour ago, and Tristan wants you to take him to practice tonight” What! I can’t, I have work to do. Why can’t you take him?” “Sir, my supervisor is back, do you want to talk to her?” Yes, thank you I told the young girl. I have to call you back. Wow! She keeps putting more wood in the fire! She can’t see the pressure I’m under and the importance of this paper. “Hi, I am checking on the status on a missing report for two lost German Shepherds, could you check to see if they are here?” “I’m sorry, but we do not have any German Shepherds here.” “Can I just check, just to get this off my mind? Sure, you are welcome to look around”. “Thank You” I said to

The author begins the story with a line that sets the entire story. The first line of the story is, “The truth of the matter is: I have managed to make my wife very, very small.” The narrator goes on to explain it was not intentional and the miniaturization was an accident. The author then has the narrator give background information and explain the story of what happens to his wife and himself. The story ends with the extreme measures the miniature wife has taken upon herself to torture the narrator. The miniature wife sets trip wires throughout the home and sticks tiny spears in the carpet.

Bradford’s poems is trying to convey what a woman’s place during this timeframe should be. Which is mild manner, submissive but loving and passionate to their husband. The poem “To My Dear and Loving Husband” she writes “Thy love is such I can no way repay”. I actually feel that she loves her husband dearly because he provides for her and the family, I don’t see the passion that he has for her as a woman. Not being cynical, I feel as though “The Author to her Book” is truly how Bradford and other women of this period feel, which is unappreciated, depressed and not feeling loved or a part of the “home”. The person (not necessarily Bradford) may feel abandon.

Music and life are diverse, with soft and soothing lullabies and large and rhapsodic thrillers. But there is no in between. Love, however, is like a symphony. Constantly rising and falling, exquisitely unpredictable, but beautiful and unique nonetheless. Dissonant, and yet still comes together to create something otherworldly. It is rare to witness a kind of love that manages to make one feel infinite. It is even rarer to have this kind of love last. Although, when people are young, they are more likely to have diminutive tastes of this love and are bound to advance the prospect of it in the future. I have been lucky enough to experience this symphony and I hope others are fortunate enough to encounter this illustrious phenomenon we all call love.

My mommy, one of the most important people in my life, the most selfless individual I know & probably will ever know. From the moment I was born, she was the first person I fell in love with. She is indeed gorgeous, but its her soft light brown eyes that show nothing but kindness the love you get from her make you feel warm on the coldest day. My mom always worked hard to ensure that me and my sister had the best upbringing that we could get, at times she was strict and often talked to me in a stern tone whenever me or my sister made a mistake. Of course no child likes punishment, but as I got older and looked back on it I realized that she was correcting me out of love & not to scrutinize me. Me and my sister always took pride in our mother’s appearance , I especially took pride in her eyes. I remember when she would come to my school for report card pick up , I wanted to make sure everyone knew some way some how, that this beautiful creature was my mother. I’ve seen very beautiful people throughout my lifetime, but very few, match the impeccable beauty that is my mother. The main reason I was always fond of my mother, is because of the way she used to take more than great care of us, especially when one of us were sick. She is a very knowledgeable woman who knew and made different at home remedies to care for us when we fell ill. There was never a moment when we were sick that we felt uncomfortable while we were sick in her care, even the shortest back rubs would put us

My eyes were filled with tears. My heart was shattered into a million pieces. I laid a bundle of flowers down at the bed of my one true love. I silently cried as I traced the letters engraved into the cool stone. Why did I let this happen?

My eyes wandered around the room that my grandmother now resided in, drinking up every detail and at the same time, cautiously avoiding the bed that was in the center of the room. I couldn't bear to look at my once lively and animated grandma now laying there looking lethargic. No would even believe me if I described how my she used to look; her expressive eyes were full of knowledge and secrets that only she knew, her surprisingly thick hair that was red from the henna she puts on every other saturday, and a warm smile that made anyone feel special if it was directed at them, I want to remember her as my grandma who used make an extra cake when we baked together because she knew that I wouldn't like the one I made, not as my grandma who is on a bed that may as well be her death bed. Her loud laughter used to echo through her small and cozy house that I used to spend all my summers in. Now you'd have to listen closely to be able to hear her, her vocals not being able to produce a sound louder than a whisper.

When one thinks of their mother they think she is the best at everything. The one who cooks the best, loves the most, always giving us kids kisses and hugs when she leave us to school. Mothers are the bravest, strongest, hardworking, and loving human beings on Earth, at least that is how I view my mom. She is always doing something for my siblings and I. Always keeping things organized, moving and doing. When I was 13, I wondered what was in her mind, what is she thinking? She started to look horrible in a condition that seemed rare that I have never witnessed before. All I could do was ask my dad, but he never said anything, I ask her, but she to never said anything. What could a kid do? “There is nothing I can do”, is what I always told myself.

November 12, 1998, I first laid eyes on the woman I would call my symbol for the rest of my life. “First my mother, forever my friend(unknown)”. Not everyone has a symbol like Tanya Clark, but she is everything you desire to be. Mom is unblemished when it comes to representing love, strength, and independence.

One day, I was brought into this world with beautiful blonde hair and the sweetest baby blue eyes. Actually, my hair was barely there, I was pretty much a bald baby. I was ever so loved by my parents and had a big sister who was protective of me. I grew up with a huge extended family who loved me unconditionally. I had two great grandparents, four grandparents, five aunts, five uncles, and twenty cousins all portraying different forms of love as I grew older and older. As all people tend to pick favorites in the family, I am guilty of it as well. I got extremely attached to my paternal grandmother, Sue.

I can’t begin to express my feelings right now. The only adjectives that come to mind are sad, mad, happy, relieved, and confused. I am all of these things rolled into one. I will explain, but just know I respect you enough to give you the space needed to take a step back. It will allow the both of us to do some soul searching. I think this is best for the both of us mentally. I don’t want things to be awkward when I see you, I would like to eventually work through this time of transition. Will it be easy? I don’t know. We need time to figure that out.

I have dreamed a thousand times if the day I finally have you, to feel your lips against mine, to take in your scent, to be yours. I know at first I won't be able to say much, for you see, I am not very good at communicating with words. I am two different women. The one that lives in normal life and follows to norms of society. Then there is the wild creäture that lives in me. she is my desires, my lust, as she is wild words are not always her form of communication, instead she uses the actions of her body. You beautiful stranger, with your dark eyes, have awoken that creäture. She is yearning for you, and on this day when we finally meet, she will be set free. The moment you walk into the room we make eye contact, you recognize the fire in my eyes. The burning desire to be yours at last. I gesture for you to come closer and before we can say anything I'm kissing you long and hard. I want to memorize your body with my lips, fix in my mind the way your hands feel all over my body as I tremble with desire for you to penetrate me. I beg you to not rush this, make it last, let's savor this moment. I want our bodies to complement each other's moves like a dance. I begin to sway my hips on top of you, set the rhythm, slow and sensual. You order me to look at you in the eye and enjoy every second like it will be our last. You gently push me down and I know exactly what you want. I begin kissing your hard cock, wrapping my lips gently around it and slide it down into my throat. I

A seemingly endless stretch of road takes me to where I am needed. The call that changes everything happened only moments ago and my heart has not ceased trying to pound its way out of my chest. The deep, dark abyss engulfs me as I speed past the barren land. The fear of missing this important moment overpowers the fear of hitting the crushing mass of a deer, so I press down on the gas pedal harder. Desperation causing all other worries and thoughts to fly out the window. I needed to be there the minute I got the call, but the 55 miles in between my destination and I laughs at my attempt to reach my destination in a timely manner and stretches on with no end in sight. Time is not my friend tonight. I feel the need to push the beast of a car as fast as it can possibly go bubbling up inside me, and I have to restrain myself with all my might. I am fighting a losing battle, I know, but still I try, knowing that I want to be there for this once in a lifetime moment. I had been waiting for this night for months, and now that it's finally here, I am in the middle of nowhere trying my hardest to get to where I need to be but not seeming to be getting anywhere.

My mother Toshaina has the biggest heart that could be given out to anyone who asked. Moreover, she is generous, patient and possesses a magnificent sense of humor. She always reminds me of sunflowers, she can brighten up anybody’s day by just talking to them. Her ability to stay strong in any situation is mind blowing. Her biggest motto was too always “be better than me” I would think to myself “how when you’re already so freaking great” but she ensured me that she’s not and definitely wasn’t at my age. She always had on a new pair of Jordan’s and polo outfit she felt like you couldn’t wear one without the other. The color she wore the most was yellow, being born a Jamaican she always loved the color since birth.

My wife is a lovely woman who is surrounded by people who love her, has food to eat, clothes to wear, and a roof over her head, but often spends her time wondering about the things she doesn’t have in life. These things being jewelry, fancy clothes, lots of money, and an overall luxurious life style. I want to give her all these things and give her a chance to go out. So I spent a very long time working to get an invitation to The Minister of Education and Mme Georges evening reception. One day I finally received the invitation and rushed home.