The Romance Killer

The other day Jersey came home from work and sat down in his man chair and started playing on Stella the iPad. He sat there for a good hour while I flittered about the apartment doing whatever crackheadish thing was currently keeping me busy. That's when it happened...

In that whole hour of sitting there I had never, not once, gotten close to him. I was about two arms lengths away from him when I smelled it. He had devoured a plate of garlic fries before he had come home....Garlic fries that had tore up his stomach (the partial reasoning for him sitting in the man chair for so long.) Garlic fries that had permeated every membrane of his orifices (butt, ears, nose, name the hole and he was stinking out of it!)

I stopped immediately and pondered whether or not I should tell him. Yes, we have been dating for many moons and we've lived together for over a year, but some things you just have to be polite about...and usually I'd be polite and find away to escape the stank, but I wasn't even close to this dude and he was funkin' up my space, so I had to comment. I wanted to cry it smelled so bad.

I told him in the most polite tone I could muster that he was funky Charley-ing up my ish and he laughed and went and brushed his teeth but it STILL smelled like something had shat and died near him so he showered and scrubbed. Then he got into bed...and it STILL smelled so he slept with his back to me so that I could sleep in peace.

I swear some day when I get hitched I'll write this into my vows..."I promise to love you even when you have the worst halitosis imaginable. Just don't ask me to kiss you."

PS. Jersey saw me taking this picture and started whining. "Are you REALLY writing about my breath?!"
Yes. Yes, I am.


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