One weekday morning, I was working from home at the kitchen table, absorbed in a training document. Suddenly, I heard a boom, boom, boom in the hallway. I knew DH was in the bedroom but what was that odd noise? Suddenly, DH was jogging into the dining room, knees high, elbows flapping, just-showered hair askew. He was wearing a sweatshirt but was naked from the waist down. His jerky movements were causing his man parts to flop up and down absurdly.

When I saw his goofy run, I began to laugh. I couldn’t take my eyes off the, um, bounciness. He circled me, wearing not much more than a silly smile, and then disappeared down the hall as I howled with laughter.

“DH!” I screamed, still laughing. I walked over to the hallway and he reappeared. “Just for good measure,” he said, and raised his arms, thrusting his hips back and forth so his junk flopped up and down, like a Slinky toy being flung up and down by only one end. Then he turned and disappeared into the bedroom.

When he finally came out dressed, I kissed his cheek. “I do that because it is guaranteed to make my wife smile,”  he said.

There really should be more streaking in our house.

Epilogue: While I like to think this is my private dance created by DH for only me, I have heard from other wives that their husbands do the same dance. Do all these guys go to a class or what?!