During my freshman year of college, I met a girl who described the search for her potential mate as wanting to find “that best friend she could have tons of fun with for the rest of her life.” Sure, her sentiments weren’t Pablo Neruda, but that idea stuck with me — because that’s what I want. I want an every day kind of love, a love like the Happy Days song, but mostly, I want a Sunday Funday kind of love, a love that Van Morrison might describe as “Crazy Love” or Courtney Love might describe as a typical morning. I want a love that is both relaxed and slightly melancholic, like a Nancy Sinatra song, but wild and passionate — but a wild and passionate you can reminsce about over French toast at brunch the next day.
A Sunday Funday kind of love has seen the mess you are capable of on Saturday night (and some of Sunday morning) and has already untagged those photos of you on Facebook. A Sunday Funday kind of love holds your hair while you expel your demons and makes sure none of those sins get on your shoes, because you’re on a budget and can’t afford new ones. I want the kind of love that will go to jail with me and wake up in the same cell next to me with a smile or hold me close in the morning when I’m too tired and belligerent to face the light yet. I want us to stay in bed for way longer than is socially acceptable and trace outlines on each other’s bodies and cuddle while we watch old Saturday morning cartoons.
I want a love that will put on too-big Olsen twins sunglasses with me, while we go to a restaurant, grab a spot with no exposure to the sun whatsoever, find that dog that bit us and snatch his hair off. I want a love that I can share with friends, that is a part of my chosen family and community and that will order another mimosa for me when I go to the restroom to take aspirin and freshen up. I want a love that knows to bring extra aspirin in case I forget, because I always forget, a love that knows that my pain comes from living too hard and loving too hard. I want a love that gives as much as I do, that is always striving and yearning, that wants to face the indignities and vodkas of the world with me. I want a love that believes in my dreams and that is always making up new dreams with me, dreams we swear we will start living out tomorrow after the hangover ends.
I want a love that is by my side, holding my hand and squeezing it tight or playing footsies with me under the table when they think our friends aren’t watching. I want a love that is never too mature to play footsies with me, to blow me a kiss or to smooch like the Eskimos do, a love that never wants to grow up all the way. I want a love that has been through Friday and Saturday and plans to still enjoy the weekend, to make the most out of the little time that life has to offer us. I want a love that is always ready for more, even if that includes another round, but knows when we’ve had enough, when the time for bed and more cartoons is nigh. I want a love that will still be there on Monday, ready to stay in bed as long as life will allow. I want a love that knows the Funday never has to end, that Sunday can last for the rest of your life.