He thinks ecards are good enough birthday greetings for his family.
He quietly stews on worries we both share, refusing to acknowledge them, as if they will go away if ignored.
He listens to Johnny fucking Cash morning, noon, and night.
He forgets to put money on the laundry card.
He never cleans the bathroom.
He gets angry when I talk during a movie or sing along with the cheesy songs being played at the grocery store.
He calls me a grammar Nazi, but always asks me when he's trying to figure out where that apostrophe should go.
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He holds me in the night when the wind shakes the building and I wake up shivering.
He smiles when I come in the door and always opens his arms for a hug, no matter how cold, rainy, or snowy I am.
He spends hours hunched over his books and computer, poring over the text, building our future.
He cooks dinner way more frequently than I do and always remembers to start the dishwasher long after I'm snuggled under the blankets.
He puts his laundry away promptly and never says a word when my clothes are still drying in the living room two days after they are dry.
He happily fixes the broken cupboard, puts up the picture frame, and cleans out the aerator in the bathroom sink.
He laughs when he reads the newest xkcd strip.
He curls up on the couch with me, watches Battlestar Gallactica with me, and never teases when I cry for Dee and her awful predicament.
He listens when I vent.
He lets me be alone when I need to be alone.
He nods approvingly at all my Baby Gap purchases, whether he approves of them or not.
He is my life, my joy, and my love.
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Ours is not a perfect love. There are squabbles, there are disagreements, and there are tears. But in the end, it is us against the world, us for the world, and us yelling at NBC for skipping Uzbekistan in the Parade of Nations.
I love you, dear husband. Happy Valentine's Day.
Sniff. So glad to know you both.
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