the smell of my desperation has become a stench

Right before we watched several reruns of Law and Order

While I am in the bathroom brushing my teeth Jon walks in, nudges me out of the way, and says he needs to clip his fingernails. This is a typical struggle we have at night because the bathroom is just too small for the both of us to take care of our respective hygiene at the same time. I need a sink to wash my face, he needs that same sink to brush his teeth and see how much water he can leave standing on the countertop. Quite a bit, it turns out.

I ask him how long it has been since he cut his toenails, although I don’t need him to answer because I know exactly how long it has been. That’s my job as a wife, to know these sorts of things, just like I know the exact amount of time down to the second his nose will bleed when I take a pair of tweezers and yank a skin tag off his nostril.

“I really shouldn’t cut my toenails at this time,” he says.

“No, you really should,” I correct him. “That way we can sleep in the same bed, and you won’t gouge the skin off my ankles. It’ll be neat.”

“But what if I need these toenails?” he asks.

“Why would you ever need toenails that are that long?”

He shakes his head as if he can’t believe I don’t already know the answer to that question. “In case both of my hands are occupied, and I need a way to snort some blow.”

“Oh my god, that is totally disgusting.”

“And yet, practical!”

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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