I walked in the door after my 6 mile run last night (94 degrees with 86% humidity) and hollered, “Honey, I’m home from my swim!”
Kirk met me at the door and watched with weary eyes as I dripped a trail of sweat from the front door all the way to the shower. As I pulled my shirt over my head, he made a face and wiped at his sweat-splattered leg.
“Uh, babe? Could you, like, try to be more conscientious about your grossness?”
Opps. My bad.