I've tried four times to write this post, and I keep hitting the backspace. Because I am many things. Not sappy. I fail at romance. FAIL. Absolutely and epically.
But he loves me.
My lack of romantic notions might be part of why he loves me. I don't require a lot of things like flowers and chocolates or gigantic teddy bears. I'd much rather watch Jeopardy on the couch. And have clean towels that I don't have to wash. Or something. I don't know.
But I do know he loves me.
And I know I love him.
And you know what else? I like him. I really like him. I like how he treats my parents. I like how they like him. I like what a good dad he is. I like how hard he works. I like how funny he is. I like how he calls me and sings me songs. I like how he answers the phone, "How is the best wife ever doing today?" I like how he thinks things through, almost to the point of making me mental, because he's so very concerned about doing the right thing. I like how he takes our marriage so seriously, how he never gives up even when I want to say "screw it".
I like how he's not perfect.
I like how he doesn't expect me to be either.
So it's his birthday and we are five hundred miles apart. Although the reasons are good, it still makes me sad.
Because I love him.
And I like him.
And I miss him.
Also I really miss having clean towels. I fail at being domestic too.