how i know you love me

When the Dork Lord asked me what I thought of Tom Brady – did I think he was hot? – I just shrugged my shoulders.

“Eh, I guess. I mean, he’s good looking, but the All American Athlete thing doesn’t really do it for me.”

“What does? Besides me, of course.”

“Ha! Well, an angsty, gun-slinging US Marshall or a certain bald headed, rage-filled detective on Law & Order SVU – I’d take that in a second over Lady Hair Brady.”

“Even though he’s got an anger problem and is always smashing people up?”

Especially since he’s got an anger problem. All that rage and testosterone? Yowza. It’s not like I have to deal with it in real life.”

“Like fake boobs.”

“Huh?”

“Okay, so you see a hot woman with big breasts and yeah, fine, might be fake, but you’re never going to actually find out that they’re inferior to real ones, so who cares? They’re still hot.”

“Yeeeeah. Just like that.” I rolled my eyes and we continued walking hand in hand. “You know how I know you love me?”

“How?”

“Because I just realized that you’re so totally a boob guy. And you chose me. I’m not exactly gifted in that area.”

“I did,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Why’d you choose me? I’m not angry and I don’t carry a gun.”

“I saw potential in the hair line.”

“Uh huh.”

I grinned and kissed his growing forehead. He smacked me on the rump.

“You’re a butt.”

“I know. That’s why you chose me.”

“I know.”

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