Last night after a long day of work back in Sedalia, Wyatt and I headed home to our cozy little apartment in KC. We were tired and sore and, did I say tired?

So we settled down on the couch to eat some ice cream and watch TV. At some point in the night, there might have been a little kissing action.

A little later, I turned my head towards him and felt something slobbery on my forehead.

“Did you just lick me?”

“…maybe…”

“Wyatt!”

(His side of the story is that his tongue happened to be out and I turned into it. I’m not sure I buy it, but either way, it got me thinking.)

Because after as many kisses as we’ve shared, does it really matter if I get slobber on me?

Probably not.

But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to let him lick me.

So I was the appropriate amount of annoyed for the appropriate amount of time (a tiny little bit for less than a couple of minutes) and we moved on to more important things. Like going to bed.