And SCENE.

If my life were a movie, the scene would go like this:

I lie in the silent darkness of our bedroom, wrapped tightly in Mike's arms.  I can feel his chest breathing in and out.  I start to fall asleep, peaceful and content.

"I feel so safe in your arms," I say, soft and sweet.

But my life is reality, so the scene plays out like this:

"But, really," says Mike, just as soft and sweet, "you're just trapped beneath my dead body weight."

I sit up quickly.  "Mike!"

"What?  It's true!"

"You're ridiculous," and I yank on the covers and roll away from him, smiling, despite myself.

If my life were a movie, the scene would go like this:

Mike is picking some things up in our room, and when he comes across something lacy, he smiles.  Feeling pretty good about myself, then, I say, "Whose is that?"

He smiles at me.  "My wife's."

"Yeah?"  I'm playing it up.

But my life is reality, so the scene plays out like this:

"Yeah," he says, matching my sexiest tone.  "See?  You can tell--right here.  There's a little piece of plastic from where she ripped the price tag off!"

I think I literally stuck my tongue out at him like a seven-year old.

The best part of everything is that, even after just six months of marriage, I didn't expect any different, because I knew I was marrying that snarky boy I met in Ohio that was too honest for his own good and just honest enough to make me grow up.