I had a good time before going to work yesterday morning. After a satisfying workout where I actually ran (in two 5 minute sessions) and walked quickly while watching a video – a duration and intensity of workout not done by me in nearly 8 months, I showered and prepared for work.
Five year old Hal interrupted me in the act of putting on my socks and shoes for a rousing and humorous hug-a-thon, complete with his little body throwing me repeatedly down on the bed, tight neck hugs, a fun time of head-sitting, me tickling or booty pinching in return, raucous laughter, failed attempts to put on footwear while prone and encumbered, and… joyously sniffing of my shirt.
Yes, Hal delighted in how I smelled. Well, specifically, he said, how my shirt smelled. He paused at one point in the antics to sniff my back deliberately and intently. He told me my shirt smelled good and when I asked him what it smelled like, trying in my mind to imagine how he would describe either the laundry detergent or my deodorant, he said, “Cherries!”
So there you go. I smelled like cherries yesterday. He reaffirmed that perception when I came home from work. Of course, he also referred to the peach he had with dinner as a cherry – he does that often. So maybe I’m actually a peach?
According to dictionary.com, the fourth and final definition of peach is:
Informal. a person or thing that is especially attractive, liked, or enjoyed.
I’ll take it. He’s quite the peach of my eye as well.