When, on the night before your birthday, we found ourselves faced with recycled corn dog and slushy, I realized something profound. We worked wordlessly and I watched you watching me and thought,
“There is no one else I’d rather be cleaning up puke with than this guy.”
Through the following days, I kept track of the times I was grateful for you. There is no one I’d rather :
. . . sing silly versions of the birthday song to
. . . be laughed at by
. . . not give a birthday present to (Though, it must be admitted, there’s no one else I’d rather give a birthday gift to than you, just to be clear.)
. . . make cheap-o decorations for
. . . take care of and worry over when their sick
. . . get horribly lost and flustered with on Bay Area freeways, even when I don’t handle it well (Most especially when I don’t handle it well!)
. . . be squished up against in a cable car
. . . experience new things with
. . . freeze my tail off with
. . . wish I was in a cozy restaurant with
. . . have next to me in a ridiculous and stressful situation
. . . hear snoring in the passenger seat
. . . be running late to mass with
. . . sit next to
. . . be teased by
. . . catch the eye of
. . . light candles for
You are, simply, the best.
I’m so glad you’re mine.
Happy (belated! Still no presents!) birthday, love.