When I meet the man


Who has no idea he’s kind because he doesn’t “try” to be.

Who looks at me and doesn’t notice my hair and teeth are unbrushed and I am wearing my holiest sweats.

Who laughs with his entire body.

Who firmly defends me against imaginary monsters that live in my head.

Who accepts that I talk to myself vigorously, and doesn’t think it’s weird.

Who graciously hands over his pocket change without being asked, because there is a donation box within 20 feet of my person.

Who not only doesn’t mind me going into every bookstore we pass, but leads the way.

Who smiles at my reference to fall as “Pumpkin season”

Who likes sex in the middle of the day, early morning, and late at night, depending on my mood.

Who dresses in jeans and beard as often as he dresses in sports coat and tie.

Who possesses an uncanny ability to know when chocolate, ice cream, or toilet paper is running low and buys them on the way home from work.

Who reads in bed while peeking at me, who is also reading in bed.

Who sings in the shower songs he learned the words to by listening to me, singing in the shower.

Who understands the importance of stories, rituals, and traditions, even if it means lying on the floor under the Christmas tree looking up at the lights with the lights off and cheesy Christmas music playing.

Who understands that Kung-fu is essential movie night material, and that this can (and will) be followed by Chinese food on the Living-room floor.

Who understands that Muppets, Minions, Disney  and the Neverending Story are sacred bits of awesome that make up the most vital ingredients to understanding the universe.

Who not only doesn’t mind tarot, numerology and endless astrology conjecture, but actively encourages me to do his too.

Who loves me until he’s cross-eyed, dizzy and upside down in a right-side-up kinda way.

When I meet that man…

I’m going to marry him.

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