He's Cracker Jacks and Baseball Games on the Radio

He’s cracker jacks and baseball games on the radio. He’s so tone-deaf; he causes confusion when he tries to sing a popular tune. He’s junky old cars whose problems don’t seem to matter as long as they run. He’s watching Disney movies with his daughters and imperfect ponytails after trying so hard. He’s sweaty running shoes and all the clutter around your house and buying packs of gum on sale. He eats all the cookies in the cookie jar and then claims to have only eaten “a couple”. He’s the smell of newsprint and old maps and new maps. He’s the overwhelming need to make sure those he loves will be provided for. He’s the plan for the future and horrible planning skills. He’s outrageous drunken stories from his youth and breaking into zoos. He’s stock markets and the need to always do something. He’s long car rides and only listening to talk radio.

He’s most of the things that embarrass you.

He tries so hard not to be.

She's 5 O'clock Somewhere and White Wine and Mojitos

She’s 5 o’clock somewhere and white wine and mojitos. She’s the jokey songs you hear at weddings and the cheesy dance moves that go along with them. She’s naps and guacamole and the sand between your toes. She’s arguments so convoluted you don’t even know what you’re arguing about. She’s always right, even when she’s not. She’s the smell of paint and saved clippings from home decorating magazines. She’s the feeling you get when you come home and suddenly everything is rearranged and artsy projects that take forever. She’s homemade salsa and cooking for an army so you always have leftovers. She’s her tears after spanking a child, once. She’s warm blankets and wearing long-johns from September to May. She’s never letting embarrassing stories die.

She’s a force to be reckoned with.

She's never going to change.

She's Coffee Ice Cream and Foreign Money She'll Never Spend

She's coffee ice cream and foreign money she'll never spend. She is the smile on her face when she's around people with obnoxious laughs. She's sad musicals and books where everyone you love dies. She's chocolate bars and the feeling you get when someone give you a drawing they made just for you. She's her love of freckles and nice jaw lines and peeling skin off when you pop a blister. She's the radio at two in the morning, because that's when they play the stuff from the early 2000s and you not-so-secretly know every word. She's new school supplies and making schedules you know you'll never follow. She's abandoned houses and floral patterns and clothes in antique stores your mom always drags you to. She's puns and accidental rhymes and reading people's tags on tumblr because that where they're the most honest. She's bad shark movies that no matter how much you want to watch, you never will.

She's all the little things that drive her sister crazy.

She enjoys every minute of it. 

She's Bad Puns and Cooking Experiments With Tofu

She's bad puns and cooking experiments with tofu. She's literary analysis and red correcting pens and the long dramatic setting descriptions in novels. She genuinely laughs at cheesy pick-up lines. She's the sound of cracking ice in lukewarm water and ghetto rap. She’s the overpowering smell of gasoline. She is polyester and that awful 70s avocado green color. She’s peanut butter, salami and pickle sandwiches, and you never figured out how that combination came to be but it works for her. She’s bad dancing and too-loud laughter and deep sea aquariums. She loves like dog nose prints on car windows - chaotic, all over the place and the only thing you can see. She is flowering cacti and rainbows and daisies and the Bowie knife she keeps in her car. And someday, she'll find someone to eat pancakes and meatballs for breakfast with her.

She is the most complex puzzle you've ever met.

She makes you want to spend all your time figuring her out. 

She Loves Him Like Sour Gummy Worms and Those Maneki-Neko Japanese Waving Cats

She loves him like sour gummy worms and those maneki-neko Japanese waving cats that stand guard in almost every Chinese restaurant. She loves him like warm scarves in the winter time and the freckles on their dog. Her love is flavored water and the crack in the spine of a new book. She’s baby socks and finding movie ticket stubs in your pocket months later. She loves him like the three musketeers love France. She’s her love of the color yellow and Batman and ninjas and useless trinkets bought for less than a dollar. She loves him like scented markers and magnetic note pads and organizational tools, not because she actually uses these things but because she loves the illusion of productivity. She’s beaches and mini sweet tarts and bookshelves. To her, he’s like cute baby animals and the noodle-shaped floaties and the intricate details of a Hayao Miyazaki movie.

She loves him with all the idiosyncrasies of herself.

She loves him with everything she is.