Really, how long is long enough? I have been with my now-fiancé for a year and a half, and I have yet to allow him to enter the bathroom after I, ahem, drop the kids off at the pool, as Jessica Simpson once eloquently phrased it. And, he has to believe by now that women do not produce any foul smells from the nether region, because I have not, nor will I ever, let one out in his presence (or, there’s always the pup to blame, not that I have ever had to do so). There is just something about always appearing well-scented that I find hard to give up. Sure, some of you may be rolling your eyes: “He’s marrying you, he should know it all,” but should he? He’s seen a lot, but why should a woman take it to the limit and turn into a man? Males are gross creatures who burp, fart and scratch their twins without blinking an eye to check if someone’s looking. The least I can do is remain true to my gender: femininity comes at a price, and I am more than willing to pay. Think about it, when a woman lets herself go, a man’s eyes begin to wander—hell, their eyes wander regardless. By retaining even a tad of mystery, there shall be far less women scorned.
Stay a lady, ladies. Or, at least, run the fan and spray the Glade: he may not love you any less, but even Ms. Simpson’s marriage failed, no matter how hard she tried to convince Nick, post-gas, that “You love my stinky ass.”