The Romance is Dead. I killed it with my fire-breath.

I love my husband.

As a general rule, my husband is the most good-natured, complimentary (when you ask him), loving soul you've ever met.

However, he is also ruthlessly honest at times.

It is my objective plea that when the honest seasons hit, he should really be wearing a "Brutally Honest" button at all times.

Yes, this is leading somewhere.

So we all know that last week, I joined "Team Peeta"*, right? 

After my slow descent back into reality from Hunger Games, I realized how lucky I am to be married to such a loving, romantic dude.

So Peeta-like, this one.

When he wants to be....

Saturday night, I snuggled up to him and asked him if he wanted to kiss me.

He may or may not have responded with something about how I had bad breath.

Undaunted, I went upstairs and rinsed my mouth out with Listerine.

Because my loving, romantic husband would surely not be able to resist me now.

After all, Peeta kissed Katniss goodness knows how many times while they were out in the wilderness without a toothbrush to their names. 

And when I came downstairs and asked for a kiss he said, "Um, now you have fire breath."

When I asked what that meant he said, "You know...bad breath WITH Listerine.  Fire.  Eww..."

But he kissed me anyway.

Because there is no other way to recover from telling your wife that she has fire breath.

Especially if you want to have more children.

*Just read the Hunger Games, already.  Duh.