One night, Craig and I sat down to a pleasant dinner at the dinner table. We were having some casual conversation about our days and enjoying each other’s company.

At one point I took a long gulp of my iced tea and realized I didn’t have a napkin, so I did something so shockingly unconscious: I wiped my mouth on my T-shirt.

Now before you gasp in horror, I’m wearing an old shirt that I hate to admit actually belonged to an ex-boyfriend and again, before you gasp a second time in horror, I only wear it because it’s comfortable, NOT for sentimental reasons.

Back to the story.

Craig sees the criminal act that just occurred before him and even looked down at the table, perhaps in shame, before saying, “Did I just see what I think I saw?” he asked. “Did you just wipe your mouth on your shirt?”

For a second, I was speechless. Not really out of embarrassment, but out of sheer hilarity that I would forget I wasn’t by myself anymore and that I would allow him to witness such uncivilized behavior. I burst out laughing. “I didn’t even realize I did that,” I said. “I guess I can’t really do that now that I’m not living alone anymore.”

He stood up from the dinner table, walked over to the counter and got a napkin for me. “I saw you… and I thought, ‘Wait a second… is she…? Is this really happening? Is she actually wiping her mouth on her shirt?'”

I was laughing so hard while he continued with his monologue. “I mean, you might as well pee with the door open.”

I stopped. “Wait a second, you do that!”

“Yeah, but I do that when I think you’re asleep and the fan hides the sound,” he said.

So maybe it was partial embarrassment, but it made us both laugh. “Honey,” I said. “We’re living together now. You’re going to see some very… disturbing things from time to time, and I’m sorry, but that’s just me. That’s who I am.”

He smiled at me from across the table. “I know,” he said. “I find it utterly adorable and simultaneously disgusting, but I love it.”

There it was. Proof that he loves me, flaws and all.