So the other night Husband and I were in the thick of living our best rock n roll lives, watching TV in bed when I was certain I could smell something suspicious.
Me: I can smell something, can you?
Hus: Like what?
Me: Like cheese.
Hus: Yeah, I thought it was you. Smells a bit sicky doesn’t it?
Me: I’ve just had a shower. When was the last time you got a wash?
Hus (In deep thought and squinting eyes): Erm … maybe Thursday I can’t remember?
Me: It’s Monday today. You are gross get away from me.
*Husband deliberately dangles his huge cheesy beard near my face*
(He actually started to grow it about 5 years ago because I said I hated beards, so like a red rag to a bull he grew one. It’s now massive, but the joke is on him because I actually love it. He also has a shaved head and some tattoos so in a dark room I can almost imagine he is Ragnar Lothbrok (Vikings- best series ever) which is ideal. I casually suggested a head tattoo to further support this but I haven’t had any success as yet. I’d never tell him I liked it though because he would shave it off immediately. He’s a weird creature). Anyway… where were we …
*Husband deliberately dangles his huge cheesy beard in my face*
As he does this we both get the shock of our lives when we catch sight of a dark shadow hovering at my side of the bed in the dark bedroom which is dimly lit by the light of the TV. Quickly we realise our stinky old dog, that smells like he is literally rotting from the inside out, has ninja stealthed his way into our bedroom without us noticing. Upstairs is strictly off limits to the dogs but since our American Bulldog has got old he thinks its a license for him to be able to do whatever he likes and so roams freely around the house without a thought for the rules, or the consequences of breaking them (not that there really are any consequences because we are too soft to enforce anything and he knows this and thats why he owns us)
Hus: It’s the dog. Definitely the dog.
Me: Don’t blame the dog, it’s you who hasn’t showered in 4 days.
Hus: I bet he’s been dragging his bumhole across the carpet like last time we caught him sneaking around up here.
Me: Oh shit he better not have. You’ll have to smell the carpet.
*I dispatch the dog downstairs and return with a can of Dettol anti bac spray for soft furnishing*
As I enter the bedroom Husband is on all fours systematically working his way round the whole of the bedroom carpet sniffing deeply to see if he can tell where exactly the dog has been. I join him and we work together.
This is my idea of what love is.
I’ve never really been one to attract, or enjoy a soppy type of man that would pin me down and insist on stroking my face. I’m just not made that way.
Love is laughter,
Love is acceptance (even when your not looking pretty or slim or smelling your best)
Love is being able to say what you think without judgement.
Love is crawling around on the floor in tandem sniffing out dogbum juice
Love is not lacing his food with poison or suffocating him with a pillow in the dead of night even though he did something that annoyed the living shit out of you.
Love is pretending you agree it’s the dog’s bum juice giving off the offensive smell when really you’re about 97.5% sure that the smell is coming from your Husbands crusty beard.