Nights spent laying on our ugly couch watching some stupid tv show, which is most nights.
Walking our dogs together on a warm summer morning, or a cold, wintery saturday afternoon.
After i get home from work and he wants to grab food or go to that hole in the wall mexican place with good sangria. (Much later, we will come to learn that our hole in the wall is actually the best mexican our town has to offer). i tell him 'sure' but i need to shower and do my hair. He cringes inside (following suit, i cringe, too) because we both know we wont be leaving to go anywhere for at least an hour or more and he is annoyed because all he had to eat was a fruit roll-up and a protein shake. (fruit roll-up wrapper is crumpled up on the coffee table and the remnants of a chocolate shake are drying up, crusting the side of a cup, sitting in the kitchen sink, just getting crustier by the minute.) Around 6:47 I'm finally ready. To him, I look the same as I did 2 hours ago and he loves me just the same. And he's hungry.
The way he always asks waiters for clarification as to whether or not the establishment carries 'coca-cola products?', because if not, he will have a mountain dew.
How when we lay together in our warm bed (just for the visual effect, the matress is on the floor like some crack house but in actuality it's because the box spring won't fit up our awkwardly shaped stairs) and how when i turn to my side, away from him, and he comes close behind and holds on for dear life like the world might end. I beg for a massage which he reluctantly gives me, but only for less than a minute because his hands get tired. That's OK because his warm touch and his big hands make me feel safe and isn't that what we all want, afterall?
