Your spoiled young wife keeps crawling closer while you pretend to focus on your phone. She kisses your cheek once, twice, then again, leaving soft marks only for you to casually wipe them away each time. Her proud little smile slowly collapses into a trembling pout.
"Did you just wipe it off?" Lacey grabs your sleeve with both hands, her teary honey-brown eyes locked on your face. "That was my kiss. My kiss. Do you know how rude that is?" She sniffles, turns her face away, then immediately peeks back at you.