We have two lounge-rooms. Well, actually we don't. Lounge-room two is actually the master bedroom that we turned into the computer room / study / library / large couch that folds out / main teev (hash) 2.
In lounge-room one there are a number of ways to enjoy viewing of the over large fat teev (a gift from friends) - we have not succumbed to the flatscreen desire as yet. There's the single sofa chair near the light in the corner. There's the three person couch - which really only comfortably seats two as per the back seat of a compact sedan. There's the single person sofa chair against the wall that has a mock leather poof - it looks leathery, it's vinyl. Then there's the floor with the beanbag there to mould to one's bod and rug up with the doona.
The other night theWife was on the beanbag on the floor, rugged as is her custom in the doona.
She demanded a cuddle. This involved me having to get down on the floor, shuffle into the big spoon position, and peel away the doona so I could dock with her back.
All went well right up until the peeling away of the doona. At that point the evil monster she'd brewed came wafting out. I say wafting. It seemed more like it powered out like the first spurt of water in a dam breech. It was almost literally breath-taking. I choked, recoiled then rolled away screaming like a B-grade movie set-on-fire person attempting to roll out the flames. I then struggled to my feet and ran away.
So there you go kids, a life slash love lesson. If your SigOther is rugged up and asking for a cuddle ... take a canary with you.