Except for bathroom breaks, I spent 125 hours straight with my husband last week. Him, me, and a cabin. We went out twice. Once for toilet paper. Once for Chinese food. And this is what I learned: I really like my husband.

We had one mirror but it was in the bathroom, the only place that would not heat up with our roaring fire. So we only went in there when we had to. I realized at the end of our stay, when it was 5 a.m. and I was gearing up for a three-hour drive followed by a nine-hour workday, that I had not looked at myself in the mirror in four days. Neither had my husband. We were bare-faced, messy-haired, pajama-wearing lumps of post-Thanksgiving sloth. And we were happy.

I could have stayed another week, just the two of us, watching movies and writing and transforming the leftovers of one amazing meal into yet another delicious meal, usually in stew form. We drank less coffee. We drank more wine. We thought about making snowballs but snuggled by the fire instead. Secret Forty, Revealed. Marital bliss can happen when you’re not even trying. How incredible is that?