. . . the more I keep saying it in my head, the less and less it's sounding like a word. Kevin has to tolerate a lot from me.
He has to tolerate my endless giggling. When we're getting ready to pray at night-we're on bended knee and everything-and I'm giggling with tears running down my face. He just patiently sits there until I'm finished and composed then we pray.
He has to tolerate my licking his neck instead of kissing it. I don't know why or when I started this, but when we hug, I'm at the perfect height to kiss his neck, but instead of kissing it, I lick it. I think secretly he likes this.
He has to tolerate my whining like a puppy whenever I see a puppy. I love dogs. And all he has to do is say the word puppy, and my bottom lip juts out and I start in whining.
He has to tolerate being kicked everyday at dinner. Do not even begin to ask where this tradition got started. I have no idea. But I kick him at the table and he rolls his eyes and says, "Vegetables." Perhaps I started kicking him to get him to eat his vegetables, but I honestly have no recollection of how it ever began.
He has to tolerate my yelling out in excitement ANY time I see a commercial for whatever 'FEST' is going on at Red Lobster. Just last week I saw an advertisement for Lobster Fest and I got really excited. I get just as excited for Shrimp Fest and Crab Fest. Needless to say, he took me to Red Lobster Friday night for dinner. I love that man.
But you know, I have to tolerate a lot too.
The Pink Trim Was a Nice Touch
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