Drying off from my shower, HT is stretched out on the bed. We’re chatting, all light hearted when I catch a glimpse of toes. His toenails specifically.
“Your toenails are atrocious, and they’re a hazard,” I scowl.
“A hazard to whom?” he feigns innocence.
“They’re not a hazard.”
“You’re not the one having to go to the ER for stitches.”
“You haven’t needed stitches.” He chuckles, then adds, “Yet.”
Swear to God, he’s sleeping in socks tonight.