It's a lazy, beautiful Sunday afternoon. The weekend is almost over for my hardworking husband. This really his day to relax. On this day, he usually resists the idea of a bath strongly.
However, given that I have bathed fairly early on in the day, and even our baby has been massaged and bathed, he clearly feels a little grimy in comparison. He somehow musters up the will power to get out of bed and goes to take a nice, hot shower.
He comes out sparkling clean. He looks like he's washed his hair today, and in fact, I think he may have used my shampoo for this. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he checks himself out in the mirror. Wearing a fresh T-shirt and track pants, he looks like he's even contemplating combing his hair. Indeed, he now looks around and spotting my hairbrush, picks it up and starts to run it in deft strokes through his hair.
I bury my nose in my book again quickly, so that he doesn't figure out how closely I've been watching him. I wait until he finishes with the final stroke of the hairbrush and turns away from the mirror towards me, with the faintest trace of satisfaction on his face.
That's when I look up from my book, glance at him with all the nonchalance I can muster, and suggest in a sweet voice,
'Honey, why don't you have a bath now?'
Oh, that single moment of wide-eyed, red-faced, blustering indignation.
When you've been married almost five years, it's these little moments of pleasure that give you maximum joy.