Friday was the boy’s birthday. His first birthday since we got together and the last one he’ll have in his 20s. (Hopefully the last one he’ll have as “boyfriend”, too, but that’s a different story) I had a nice night planned complete with cupcakes, candles, and a delicious dinner out, followed by a little somethin’ somethin’ after.
After I got off work, I ran out and got the cupcake (for him) and the cake (for me – I should get to have a little something sweet for dessert, too!). I went home and got everything ready, then went to get myself ready.
I got in the shower and was washing, lathering, rinsing, and repeating when I realized I was out of shave gel. And I really needed to shave my legs. I was almost to the point of shaving without anything, when I remembered that boys have to use shave gel when they shave, too.
You guessed it. I used boy shave cream. That made me smell like a boy. On my boy’s birthday.
I could just see it. Boy walks in the door after a long day at work. I’m sitting at the table with a candle-lit cupcake and his gift, waiting for him. He sees me, smiles, and comes to give me a kiss. I stand up to kiss him and Boy says, “Why do you smell like another man? Better yet, why do you smell like another man on my birthday?” “It’s your shaving cream!” I would say. “I ran out of mine and needed to shave so I could help you have an amazing birthday!”
Then I remembered he’s used to me smelling like a man. I use deodorant made for a man because even that “strong enough for a man, but made for a woman” stuff doesn’t work on me. My sweat glands either belong to a marathon runner running a race in July in Bangkok, or are on steroids.
Sometimes I have an overactive imagination that makes me worry about silly things for no reason.