…I must have rawhide skin, because I take unnaturally hot showers.
…I make “scary noises” when I run.
…I should not be in charge of the Netflix queue because I cannot be trusted to pick out anything “decent”.
…there is, in fact, such a thing as “too many shoes”.
…it is completely unacceptable to ask a man to move his clothes into the guest room in order to make room for more shoes.
…I am getting smaller every day.
…I have ridiculously soft skin.
…I look so cute when my hair is a mess and I haven’t showered yet.
…there is no one else in the world that is better company than me.
Sometimes, most times, actually, I wish I could see myself through his eyes for just a moment. I know I’d have to see the bitchiness and the selfishness and the argument that I probably shouldn’t have won. But it would be worth it for even a quick glance at the way he describes me. It would be worth it to know, once and for all, if those are things he says to be nice, or if there is really this other – this better – version of me living in someone else’s perception.
Some days, days like today, actually, just the possibility that this perception of me exists inspires me to be more.