Love Language

I was introduced to the idea of love language some time ago. It's the manner in which one expresses their affection. Sometimes this is harder to deduce than you think.

There are the couples out there who just put it all out there, being disgustingly affectionate and eating each other's faces without caring that my face is squished between theirs because it's rush hour and the bus is full. Thanks for the inclusion, old people. Boyfriend tries that mushy crap in public I introduce his nose to my knuckles. At least he doesn't succumb to his emotions and cry like a little girl. Kudos, Boyfriend. Kudos.

There are other people who show their love by purchasing gifts. No Boyfriend, we don't count the time you bought that giant bag of basmati rice that would feed Hong Kong for a year. Yes, I know it's my favourite. Maybe I should clarify; Some folk buy fun, frivilous gifts or treats for their significant other(s)...we don't judge here, go polygomy!...These gifts could be: a spa day, quality chocolates (No, Boyfriend. I'm not planning on eating the chocolate rabbit from Easter. Now is as good of time as any to tell you they blow more than a birthday party clown whose parlour trick is making balloon animals.), a luxury automobile, fancy coffee, or even pineapple. Boyfriend gets points for the pineapple BUT NOTHING ELSE. Wow. That might have been a little over the top. What I mean to say is: Boyfriend gets points for trying, but he's not winning any tournaments in this catagory. That's a compliment if I ever heard one.

Another love language is the repairman technique. Do not confuse this with the Mr Fixit method. The repairman technique is when you show your feelings by fixing problems/situations. It can be something as unsexy as fixing that bubbling toilet. That's not a hint Boyfriend, we'll get the landlord to deal with it. Again, though he tries, Boyfriend does not score well in this catagory. While you're reading this, Boyfriend, don't touch my things. I don't care that you claim to know how to sew, I know you're basing that assumption off of finding that minature sewing kit in the junk drawer. We also own a screwdriver, but that doens't make me a mechanic.

Boyfriend is one of those folk who speaks many love languages. His biggest is inclusion, he shows love by inviting every family member, friend, neighbour and freak on a leash to every event ever. Romantic dinner? Bring that hobo we met on the walk to the restaurant! Big anniversary? Call Grandma and ask if she wants to spend the weekend at our place! Couple's vacation in Mexico? Those people from the plane seem nice, let's spend every second of our vacation with them! It's too bad the rooms don't have bunk beds. I love that he's a people person, but at times it can evoke the She-Hulk. I'm selfish. I love me-time.

The point is, there are many love languages out there in the world. None that I've listed so far are mine. I don't do the smarmy love poems, picnics at dusk while a string quartet plays in the background. I'm too much of a control freak to feel wooed by Boyfriend putting a photo or art on the wall that I've been meaning to hang (I will TELL you where it goes then watch you hang it. Stuff doesn't go on those walls willy-nilly, you clown. Learn this lesson, damn it!). The only movement that stirs inside of me when I see man-tears is disgust. No, no. My love language is sarcasm and insults. That is how you know I care. For instance, recently I walked into the living room to see Boyfriend reading the paper:

You're really cute right now.
Because I'm reading?
No. Because your mouth was shut.

Boyfriend must have cruised the book store for my love language translation guide (How to Speak K's Love Language, you can find it at that book store with the books). Yes, book store. Not the app store. If you read this blog, you know why Boyfriend doesn't shop there. If you're lost, perhaps pissing off entirely is the best option for you. Don't be lazy! Read the blog from the beginning. Where was I? Asses. Made me lose my place. Ah, yes. Boyfriend is still working on the pronounciation and nuances of my love language, but he's well on his way. Last night I was singing in the kitchen:

Can you shut up?
What? (Excited, my head pops around the corner from the kitchen to the living room where he sits)
I said can you get me an ice pack for my knee?
That is not what you said. (I can't help but smile) Boyfriend?
Yeah? (He looks like he does before the She-Hulk emerges)
I love you.

Somebody from Disney needs to read this post. That last part is a love story if I ever heard one.

Time for tea,

K