Mostly mundane. Inspired by @alanarogerrrrs and friends.
  1. •
    You accept that I don't ever want to commandeer the TV remote. I really don't. I don't want to decide. I don't want to push the buttons. I don't want to surf and pause and flip and evaluate where to land. I will complain, though, if you choose poorly. I'm sorry. I promise I have other—more redeeming—qualities.
  2. •
    You are committed to my mental health. Not just my happiness or productivity. But my real-ness. My me-ness. Along these lines, you think I could use a nap.
  3. •
    When I cough, and I say "I'm dying," and you look at me and say, deadpan, "You're not dying, you just need attention," I know you're saying it to make me laugh, and that you're the perfect one to give me attention.
  4. •
    You bring me food. Just...all of the food, all of the times. You know how much I love leftovers. Yes, I want the other half of your sandwich. Yes, I want a dessert to go. Yes, I want coffee. I want a roadie. I want hashbrowns and eggs but I also want an order of banana-ricotta pancakes "for the table."
  5. •
    We know what each others' glances mean, including but not limited to crazy big panic eyes that say GET ME OUT OF HERE, which I admittedly make unecessarily—say, when I just *sort of* want to go home, put on my nightgown, and do a crossword puzzle.
  6. •
    You can't listen to Fiona Apple covering Frank Sinatra singing the most beautiful music Cy Coleman ever composed...without thinking of me in a way that makes your eyes get a little shiny.
  7. •
    We do all the rituals together. Opening the curtains, closing the curtains. Buttoning up the house before a storm. And if there is a storm? I know that you have already plotted our escape route so that I don't have to wonder how I will carry everything and everyone out of the house while the water swirls at our feet.
  8. •
    Raking leaves. I don't know if this is truly a fantasy or if I'm just longing for fall. Either way, you know how this reminds me of Ohio, of the street where I grew up, before they cut the trees down, before the grocery store burned. You remember, because I told you, how I watched the flames, standing on the sidewalk in my nightgown, before sunrise
    I was nine.
  9. •
    Not talking. Sometimes I just get so tired of talking. So we just each do our own thing, together, but in silence. Like, an appreciative silence. Occasionally, when we are reading together, I touch your foot with mine, repeatedly, until you acknowledge me. And then that's enough. You can go back to reading. I SAID, GO BACK TO READING.
  10. •
    Board games. We are equally matched. My goodness, this might be my top mundane fantasy. An equal match.
  11. •
    Honorable mention, Extraordinary Division: You feel very strongly that I need a new sofa.