Smells like work

I spent the weekend painting doors. Taking doors off hinges, carrying them outside, sanding, priming, painting and rehanging until the sunlight was no longer available to guide my brush. When the children were tucked in bed and the morning outfits were neatly organized, I collapsed in bed. Doug sat with his laptop while I tapped on the iPad. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Doug sniffing his armpit. I turned to watch him just as he sniffed his other armpit.

Me: “Is there a problem?”
Doug: “I thought I smelled funky, but I don’t.”

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