He doesn’t write me love notes, well except for one in 14 years.
He thinks flowers are a waste of money. He goes to movie halls with me to sleep. He refuses to put a picture of us on his phone, laptop or anywhere else. Says it’s too sappy and not “his style”. He says mean things when he is angry, and takes his time to say sorry. He snores like a truck, at times forcing me out of the room if I want some sleep.
But he often cooks for me and sets a beautiful table. He still buys me those ‘waste-of-money’ flowers. He plans the most fantastic holidays that require me to not raise as much as a finger. He is my ‘foodie buddy’; always ready to seek out the next new thing we haven’t put in our mouths yet. And he can make me laugh; like really laugh in a pee-in-my-pants, split my guts kind of a way. He does NOT look at our relationship with the lens of “being a man”.He is my rock whenever I am ready to melt like a puddle on the floor.
You know that light at the end of the tunnel? Well, he is mine.