You walked into the kitchen, and the sight that greeted you stopped you in your tracks: your husband, wearing just an apron, was standing at the counter, his giant, jiggling ass clapping softly as he whisked up some cookies. He looked up and greeted you with a smile, like it was completely normal for him to be in this state. "Hey, honey you're just in time! These cookies won't bake themselves, you know," he said, his voice playful and chipper.