Day o' Cheese!

My husband is romantic. To the max. When we first started seeing each other, I had explained to him that I don't do pet names. I was most vehemently against the use of "baby," but really anything other than "Emily" wasn't going to fly. He agreed to these terms, but asked for one day a year to be completely sappy without being mocked. Of course, we decided to go with Valentine's Day since it's already inherently saccharine. Honestly, the super gooey lovey dovey stuff is generally not me, but I am pretty okay with it on Valentine's. (This is probably a result of the year that I surprised my college boyfriend with a home cooked breakfast - a feat to prepare in a dorm common area - and a nice letter, and he surprised me with literally nothing that day. To be fair, he did give me two dozen roses the following weekend, after which he declared that they were half price and threw his arms up in triumph. He was a good guy, but obviously was just not that into me.) 


The guy who did this was very into me: 

Why yes, that is a Bill Clinton doll. Thanks for noticing.

In conclusion, Jeffrey Michael...
You are the aspartame to my Diet Pepsi.
You are the Booth to my Brennan.
You are the pineapple to my pizza.
You are the Space Mountain to my Disneyland.
If I had to choose between dating Jimmy, Matty, or you, I'd choose you.
If I had to choose between seeing Ingrid, Wicked, or you, I'd choose you.
If I had to choose between riding a unicorn, a dragon, or...whoa, whoa. That one is inappropriate and I'd probably choose the unicorn. Scratch that.


I love you, sweetie pumpkin mooshie hugopotamus face! Happy Day o' Cheese!