Love

"What do I have to do to get you to take a shower?" These are the words of my loving husband as I crawled into bed on Sunday night. Sexy.

Actually, he was quite right. This is why it's very important that if you marry, you marry your best friend. Not someone you get along with so-so, but your absolute best friend. That way, you can enjoy a brutal honesty such as ours. I love my husband.

I don't always smell bad. Neither do I usually avoid showering. However, on Sunday, I was coated in the sweaty remains of my second 5k in two weeks. One might think that sweaty remains of any event call for showering. One would be wrong.

Sure, my sweaty remains were tinged with the oddly sweet smell of tequila oozing out of my pores from a fantastically indulgent Saturday. But I'm not one to let odd smelling sweat hold me back from much. Certainly not from basking in the sweaty glory of another race run. When my tired and sweaty self crumpled into bed on Sunday, I just wasn't ready to let go yet.

And so I promised that husband of mine that I'd shower on Monday. And that's love.