Confession-I clean the treadmill with a bleach wipe before and after I use it. I know that this doesn’t seem like a weird trait. After all, we’re all supposed to do this, right? Except that I mean MY treadmill. The one in my guest room. The one that only me and my husband use.

Oddly, I will eat off that man’s fork. I will drink from his beer. I shower with him. We share a toilet. Leaving out the gross stuff that we do behind closed doors. . . But I CANNOT run if it gets into my head that I’m looking at his sweat. Ugh!

I have (unsuccessfully) tried to quietly hint that HE could wipe down the treadmill upon finishing–I place the tub of bleach wipes in varying and conspicuous locations, moving it each time so that he knows that I’ve used it, I’ve mentioned loudly that I need to remind myself to buy a trash can for that room, you know, for the used bleach wipes, I’ve left the used wipes in the cup holder. At this point, one of three things is happening. Either he has completely failed to notice my (ridiculously over the top) hints-this is a possibility he misses this shit all the time, he has noticed the hints but thinks it’s hilarious to torture me into throwing a temper tantrum-I think he goads me sometimes so that he can remain convinced of my crazy, or he has noticed and decided that it is weird to clean your own treadmill (please don’t let it be this, please).

I like to pretend that, if It all hit the fan, I could use this as grounds or justification, but I am pretty sure that this particular door is going to swing the other direction.  Sigh.