2 years ago I went on a date with this guy. He was sweet, smart and funny. Part way through dinner he noticed I was meticulously picking the onions out of my meal. I don’t like onions and had not realized that my choice would be so loaded with them. He offered to exchange dinners even though he was a vegetarian and my dinner had chicken in it.
“Too nice for me,” I thought. I figured if we spent enough time together he’d figure out what kind of asshole I was and stop returning my calls. On the other hand he was a really good kisser so I figured I’d ride the ride until he came to his senses.
And here we are, two years later. He’s still rectifying my mistakes, putting up with my bad habits and shaking his head at my asshole nature. He’s survived my moods, my crankiness, my dogs. He likes my cooking and my jokes and my fat ass.
I always figured I was fun for the first few months, one of those goofy chicks that are a crazy good time but not really worth it once things start getting real. For the past 2 years I could never really figure out why he stayed, why he liked me so much. I just don’t know.
But I like that he’s here and I love the way he smiles and the way he laughs and the way he lets me know that things are going to be okay.