I have spent 42.86% of my life as Mr. S’s girlfriend. Don’t try to back into the math — it’s a long time. And as most seasoned relationships go, we spend most of our nights cozied up at home rather than out and about. What that really means is, we spend most of our nights sprawled out on the couch arguing over who is taking up more space.
“Get back on your side of the cushion!”
“Stop touching me with your feet!”
“Ok, get off, you’re making me hot.”
Don’t worry. I assure you the romance is still alive.
Our normal routine generally consists of ordering in dinner, watching what’s in the DVR, and farting. Really. I always assume that most serious couples are comfortable with each other’s gas, but lately, I feel like Mr. S and I have taken it to a whole new level.
In the beginning it was the courtesy, “I’m going to fart.”
Then it became, “I farted.” Followed by the sometimes obvious response, “I know.” Less courteous, but still ok.
Now it’s more like, “I farted. It felt hot” or, “I farted. Save yourself!!” or, “I farted. HAHAHAHA!!”
Do I think this is weirder than it really is? Is it the truest testament to our love for one another or does it just prove we are both equally disgusting? Oh well, at least we have each other…and Thai take out, episodes of “The Voice” in the DVR and… o_O