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.