“Do you really have to put it on?” He asked, as I dipped my index finger into a jar of night cream.
“It doesn't taste good.”
“It's not that you have to lick it,” I replied, tapping my face lightly so that the cream would sink better into my skin. “Besides, you can always kiss me on the mouth. Why is it an issue, anyway?”
He merely shrugged. “Well, I guess I miss kissing your cheek to say goodnight, and not getting any aftertaste.”
I chuckled. “We have to continuously strive for the better version of ourselves. Oh, and there is this thing about wrinkles, too. I don't really fancy the idea of having time etched on my face over the years, especially since we're not getting any younger.”
“Does this matter that much to you?” He wondered intently.
“I suppose,” I said flatly. “And does kissing my cheek matter that much to you?”
He nodded. “Oh well, whatever floats your boat, darling. We'll figure something out,” he concluded.
It was not until the next day, when a ray of sunshine sneaks through the windows, that he figured something out.
“Good morning,” he greeted me with a kiss on my left cheek. “You look beautiful today.”
“Must be the combo of the cream and beauty sleep,” I mumbled. “How does it taste?”
“Less bitter,” he grinned. “The smile helped.”