I am glad that Lucky plays hockey. I am not glad that his gear considers itself a full-fledged member of the team, which is the only explanation I can think of as to why it feels comfortable enough to lounge around in our apartment all day, then welcome me home after work with an enthusiastic high-five of funk. Lucky says "airing out." I say "squatting."
What I am saying, in the most complicated way possible, is that his hockey gear smells terrible, to the point I am currently huddled on the couch under a blanket since I prefer the cold to closing our back door, which is supplying life-giving fresh air. In an apartment this small, options are limited.
This calls for a haiku....
Pads, helmet, and gloves,
Your combined stock of B.O.
Strains my young marriage.
...Or two.
Hard-won hockey game
While I cheer, I sigh deeply
Much sweat to "air out."
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