I asked him to get me a cup of coffee because the cat was sitting in my lap and I didn’t want to disturb her and then immediately got up after he brought it to me.
I was using the fleece blanket wrong. (“It’s patterned side down, Katie, that’s the softer side.”)
I try to seduce him by doing dances reminiscent of an electrocuted chicken while he is on the phone or playing video games. (Success rate: 6%.)
When I work from home and he is gone all day, the apartment looks like a tornado ran through a Walmart by the time he returns.
I am really bad at making puns but very enthusiastic about persistently doing so. (“The best jokes are the ones you have to explain.”)
I insist on telling him about things I saw on the internet while remembering few of the details. (“There was this guy, or was it two guys? And he, or they, were in a park, or a field of some kind, maybe a large backyard? I forget, it was funny.”)
I make him read everything I write and then pester him with questions about consistency in voice or if this comma is really working.
I ask him if he’s ready to go so he stands up and puts his coat on and then I find thirty-seven critically important things I need to do before we can leave so he locks me in the apartment while I am rearranging my decorative lanterns because someone might die if I don’t do that right now.
I spend most of my life slowly falling over.
I was anxious about doing a reading and dropped my only set of car keys down a sewer and then he had to fish them out because I was sobbing on the phone with city maintenance but still mustered the energy to take a picture of him upside down in the sewer and then hang it on the refrigerator.
It generally takes me a week to empty my suitcase after a trip.
I’m mean when I’m asleep.
Edit: Brian would like me to add that, for a person standing at a formidable 5’3”, I take up more space in bed than Andre the Giant in a baby crib (“Babe, I want to snuggle so I’ll sneak onto your half of the bed and then maintain position like a week old corpse until my seventeen alarms go off in the morning”), and the fact that my inability to control my body temperature leads me to often say things like, “Windows open in August, huh? Please move on with your (now stunted) life when I die of hypothermia and the paramedics have to wheel me out of this apartment on a dolly because I’ve hit Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic levels of frozen and then light me on fire in a funeral pyre because that’s the only way I’ll ever be warm. What, don’t close the window, it’s hot in here.” I’ll add the seventeen alarms to this list on his behalf. I will also add that he intentionally threw water all over me when he was in the shower this morning and I was peeing, so I’m very tolerant and probably not the worst.
Edit2: I googled the correct spelling of “funeral pyre” and “funeral potatoes” popped up and I’m glad that’s a thing. Just want you guys to know.