Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Is the Honeymoon Over?

Nearly five months ago I married Mr. Charming.  And according to, the honeymoon ended about three and a half months ago, give or take a weekend. 

While I’m generally not one to complain (riiiiiiiight), there are two things my husband stopped doing immediately after we wed: one, putting down the toilet seat after using the bathroom, and two, kissing me when I was sick.

And when I say immediate, I mean honeymoon suite.  

I nearly plunged into a swirling abyss the first time I followed my sweet husband in the high-end commode.  This after months and months of walking into the bathroom to find, not only the toilet seat down, but the lid too!

So while I was surprised at the newlywed slip, I ultimately decided to be grateful that he put it up in the first place.  Because for more than a decade I have routinely sat my delicate hiney upon a wet toilet seat.   Believe me, next to accidentally swallowing a bug while riding your bicycle or having a child vomit into your cupped hands, it’s unpleasant.  

Later, after we’d been married for about a month, I came down with the flu, complete with fever, chills, and the inability to behave rationally.  And believe it or not, my husband cut me off.  Of course, he continued to serve me chicken soup, go on Robitussin runs, and insist I rest, but he acted like my face was on quarantine.  Even long after I was able to stand upright and recite the alphabet, he dodged my kisses like a ninja.

This wouldn’t have been so surprising had the man used those same stealth tactics months earlier to avoid my lips when I had a series of cold sores.  Forget that I had open wounds on my mouth.  Forget that they were highly contagious.  Forget that they were reoccurring over a period of two months.  The man simply bought an industrial-sized bottle of Lysine, popped them like Vitamin C and dove in. 

But now that we’re betrothed, I guess we’ve both let our guards down.  My hair is routinely fashioned in a sloppy ponytail, yoga pants are the new lingerie, and I may or may not have once popped a pimple with the bathroom door open.

Thankfully, a few things have remained sacred.  Tubes of toothpaste are squeezed from the bottom and capped when not in use, we share responsibility for replacing toilet paper rolls, and neither one of us has yet to “Dutch Oven” the other.  All in all I’d say the romance is still in full bloom.

So if after five months that’s as downhill as things get around here, I’ll take it.  And from now on, I will refrain from consulting on, well, anything.

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