Do I get some sort of exemption from kissing anyone goodnight who has ingested fecal matter in a given 24 hours?

I have reviewed the fine print of my marriage vows but there seems to be some grey area on this point:

I recall the “love, honor and cherish” bit.

I remember the “in sickness and in health” part.

But the lip locking with someone with dung breath?

Can I get a lawyer?

Do I get some traction on the very salient physical reality that I’m allergic to cats and the poo in question issues forth from a Palm Civit Cat?

Today, in the interests of science and on behalf of his dozen or so coffee snob friends, Tony paid 11 USD for approximately three quarters of a cup of coffee brewed from beans that had been fed to a cat and “hygienically cleaned” when they emerged.

I find it inconceivable that this has been on his list of “must try” culinary delights for some time now.

It looks like coffee…

It smells like… coffee…

But I can’t quite get past the bit about it being cat shat in the not too distant past.

“It’s rich… bold… smooth… and there’s absolutely none of that bitter finish that you usually get with strong coffee,” The Man muses in his best Anthony Bourdain impersonation.

“It’s good!” He announces, with an enthusiasm he surely knows better than to expect me to catch. I don’t even like regular coffee that has not been pre-processed by a creature that gives me hives on a good day.

Hannah arches one eyebrow in her signature look and grabs the cup, sticking her nose down in the aroma, “Well, I’d better try it for science!” 

She slurps.

She furrows her brow.

She hands the cup back to her dad with her deadpan sarcasm: “Enjoy.”

And he does. Every dime of the overpriced cup.

But now it’s bed time. He’s on a call. I’m getting ready to brush my teeth and wondering if there is enough toothpaste in the world to polish away the memory of his sweet, soft lips on the edge of that cup that met the backside of a cat’s behind…

So tell me… do I have a legal out on this one?