I will dance around the kitchen to 60s music in front of you. And you laugh and tell me to pay attention to the pot that’s about to boil over.
I will steal and wear your shirts in perhaps the most cliché form of relational demonstration there is. And you will love the way I look in them. It will wreck you.
I will make you be the big spoon a disproportionate amount of time, because I hate being the big spoon and I know it’s unfair to guys that they have to have hair in their mouth and an arm that’s falling asleep. But I will be selfish about this. And you will enjoy every minute of cradling me.
I will get turned on by you being the big spoon and probably want to roll over on top of you and fit our bodies together that much better. And you will be waiting and eager and wanting me.
I will buy all your favorite foods at the grocery store. And you will buy me cute underwear.
I will pay for dates sometimes because I want to. And you will let me.
I will say awfully inappropriate things. And you will laugh.
I will listen to John Denver songs and cry. And you will leave me be and pretend not to notice.
I will flirt with the little old security guard in my building. And you will flirt with the check out lady. And neither of us will care about that or a million other things. We are carefree.
I will never bother you about leaving the toilet seat up. And you will turn a blind eye to the clothes I haphazardly drop on the ground, my bed, in the bathroom, in the living room, in my car, and so on.
I will scratch your back ‘cause I’m pretty fucking good at it. And you will point out that anyone can be good at it. But you will love it anyway.
I will dole out thank yous and sorrys far too frequently. And you will try to get me to assert myself more, to little avail.
I will remember your appointments and errands and parents’ birthdays. And you will be grateful, because that stuff usually eludes you.
I will correct your grammar. And you will correct my spelling.
I will climb into your lap while you are trying to get work done. And you will make me have to speed on my way to work — which you’ll point out I was going to do anyway — because spending time in bed with you is so delicious.
I will ask you to hang all the things in my house because I genuinely don’t understand how hanging things on walls works. And you will ask me to pick out presents for your family because you know I love to surprise people.
I will need to have too much control over my schedule because my whole day is planned down to the minute. And you will be patient with me mostly, but sometimes you will come in like a — well, a wrecking ball and force me to be flexible.
I will care an embarrassing amount about celebrities. And you will find it endearing.
I will tolerate baseball and video games and 80s cop movies for you. And you will tolerate the way I retell stories too many times, and overuse slang terms, and the fact that I exaggerate too much.
I will never stop you from going out with your friends, or practicing your own hobbies, or just having a whole day to yourself, without a reason. And you will never stop me.
I will wake you up in the middle of the night to look at the stars. And you will convince me to climb on the roof for a better view. Which is inordinately dangerous, by the way.
I will adore you. And you will adore me, too.