(BY Maryanne Tuck Grimmett)
Swing by the gas station and fill up my tank so that I don’t have to because you know that pumping gas is practically my least favorite thing ever (first world problems).
When I lock my keys in my car for the fifteenth time, drive forty-five minutes to unlock it. And when you get there, instead of lecturing me on forgetfulness, make me laugh with cheesy pickup lines.
When I finally come out of the bedroom, after thirty minutes of trying on and discarding outfits that no longer fit, pretend you don’t notice that my face is all broken out and just say, “You look so pretty today.”
Go to the store, pick up all the supplies, lock me out of the kitchen, and make me chocolate covered strawberries all by yourself as a sweet surprise.
Within minutes of finishing up a long distance spat over inconsequential things, send me a goofy text message overloaded with inside jokes spelled out in ridiculous emoticons.
Split a candy bar with me and give me the bigger half just because you know your huge sacrifice will crack me up.
Tell me my very first scratch-made chocolate cake is really something, and wait until you’re sure I’m not looking before you throw the rest your slice in the trash.
Thank me for making dinner and then hop up to clear the table and do the dishes before I can get to it.
Take pottery classes, not necessarily because you're just dying to, but so that you know enough to converse about and participate in one of the great loves of my life. And to top it off, actually get good enough to make incredible pieces.
Tell me you love me. Not with what you say but with what you do.