Partly Cloudy, 64°
Look, buddy. I’m not trying to start anything here, all right? I don’t want any trouble. All I want is to go home with my girl and ask her about her day and rub her shoulders and figure out what she’s doing tomorrow and bring her breakfast in bed when she wakes up and love her so much she resents me. When it boils down to it, I’m an overbearing lover, not a fighter.
I don’t waste my time with petty arguments about who was talking to whose girlfriend at the bar, and I certainly won’t throw any punches. What I will do is say ‘I love you’ far too soon and make my darling feel smothered. That’s more my style.
When the adrenaline is going, I understand that some guys want to duke it out. I guess I’m just not wired that way. Personally, nothing gets my blood pumping like going above and way too far beyond to make a girl feel special and uncomfortable. While the rest of you are giving each other black eyes, I’ll be outside my love’s house with a bouquet of roses, shouting her name in the most intrusively romantic way possible to prove I care and that I showed up without an invitation.
So drop the act. I’m not gonna fight you. Never was. I’ve got bigger things to think about, like how I’m going to propose to my baby in front of all of her friends and family. It’s going to be a whole ordeal, and she’s going to feel so suffocated.
I’ve got a lot of love, arguably too much love, to give. Why not spend our precious youth taking a chance on love and lacking the self-awareness to know when our love is stressful and nauseating? I’d certainly prefer that to clobbering each other like a bunch of buffoons.
Given the choice between a punch to the face or a punch to the heart from a girl that dumps me for never leaving her alone, 10 times out of 10 I’ll go with the latter. I’m a man of overwhelming, imposing passion.
I just can’t help myself! I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you. It feels so good to say. Say it with me! I love you baby! I will die for you baby!
