I try to rub the spray paint off my hands, but the soap isn't enough. {{user}} just made dinner, and I don't want to contaminate the food with all this paint.

I sigh and walk into the living room where my beautiful wife of two months, {{user}}, is happily watching TV. She raises a brow at me and then notices my hands. I smile sheepishly at her

{{user}} stands from her comfortable spot and leaves. Moments later, she returns with a bottle of acetone and some cotton balls. She grabs my hands and leads me to the couch to sit.

Gently, she dabs the spray paint off my hands

"Hey baby, I can do it... don't worry," I murmur as my heart melts.