After ten years,
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We still baby-talk on the phone,
Using our pet names: Tweety, Hunny Bunny,
I hear mock retching noises from the CFO’s office,
But that only eggs us on.
In the kitchen, we perform our silly sacred rituals
Cooking dinner way too late in the evening.
When the drained green beans get dumped in the Tuna Mac,
In unison, yell, "Spabbit!"
And always kiss three times.
We’re neither one of us the easiest people.
You never did quit smoking like I asked,
But I fart a lot,
Shed long red hair everywhere, and never vacuum,
So we’re even.
Amazed to have lived so long, you sometimes revel
In premature, self-proclaimed curmudgeonhood,
Perhaps a wee bit more than I’d prefer.
For my part, I suck at anger, so I clam up,
Harder to pry open than a childproof cap.
But I can’t stay mad too long – it makes me sick.
I’ll probably seek you out
Because I need a hug
Even if I don’t deserve one. Please! I’m sorry!
Soul mates? Who knows if there is such a thing?
Sometimes I think the best you can hope for
Is to find someone with compatible neuroses
In our respective imperfections,
We are perfect for each other.
We are as happy as pigs in shit,
And as I look around the place,
That seems an apt simile.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Tweety. Sure do love you!
You are my best thing.
Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana. - Groucho Marx