I will close the cabinet doors that you leave open, and throw out the trash that you leave on the counter (even though the waste basket is within arm’s reach, because, “Unfortunately, I love you.” I will live with your weird figurine heirlooms and hideously scary bird statues and bullet lamp because, “Unfortunately, I love you.”
I will let the garage project go untouched for months and months because, “Unfortunately, I love you.” I will live through your nervous panic attacks about packing before we go on a trip because -- yes, you guessed it -- “Unfortunately, I love you.”
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I will ooh and ahh about your biceps each time you show them to me because, “Unfortunately, I love you.” I am okay with you teasing and man-handling the dog because, “Unfortunately, I love you.” And above all, I will endure your constant throat-clearing and general noisy boy-ness, because, above all, no matter what, “Unfortunately, I love you.”
I know that my husband also must think similar things about me and I am grateful that he loves me enough to deal with them.
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In particular, I thank you, hubby, for installing the bathroom light fixture that I know you hate. I thank you for letting me have ALL of the closets in the house. I thank you for watching 'Downton Abbey" and "Honey Boo Boo" with me. I thank you for being kind when I have an upset tummy and it affects the air you breathe. I am grateful that you let me use your chest as a pillow even though it makes your arm fall asleep.
I know you do it because, "Unfortunately, you love me."
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