Anybody who knows me and my husband knows that we're not touchers. I mean, sure, huggin and kissin is great when you want to make out, but when it's time to go to sleep, you'd damn well better stick to your side of the bed or you're gonna be in trouble.
That's why it was so sweet that we went to sleep spooning last night. He's been out of town for two weeks and we get a little bit nostalgic for each other while we're apart. At least, it was sweet until I awoke myself -- and the man who has pledged himself to me for life -- with a Supersonic Fart. Not only was it a trumpeter, it also smelled BAD. Bad enough for him to pull the covers over my head so I could smell the mess I made, much in the manner that one would rub a dog's nose in its mess. And based on the aroma, just as cruel.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
wrybrarian: have i told you about the time i punched CW in my sleep because he farted on my leg? lovely.
Post a Comment