… all I’d want is you to be my sweet honey bee.” Thank you, Barry Louis Polisar. And thank you, Juno, for putting this on your soundtrack. You’ve made my life a little bit better.
I have a sweet honey bee. He’s tall and browned-butter-skinned and has killer legs. Legs that would make you jealous. Legs that do make me jealous. He’s got passion in his gut and a voice in his lungs – full of vivid life and canyon thoughts. Mostly, he loves Jesus… Jesus, cheese, and me.
Today my man sat sweetly, patiently, lovingly with me on our cheap linoleum kitchen floor. Miscommunication happens sometimes between people who deeply love each other. And it happened today. We fought… and then we talked. Because the best thing you can do after missing the communication boat is to take a deep breath, hop in that creepishly deep sea, and swim your ass off until you finally reach it. Then… climb on in. And just communicate.
He’s a keeper, my Andy. He loves me well – and I love him by growing strawberries in our parking-lot of a yard. It’s true – our second floor flat has never seen grass. It doesn’t know the way of whistling birds and bright leafy veggies. That is, until we moved in! My man built a garden box
with the help of his wife who is really the builder in the house, but sometimes chooses to take a backseat approach and let her artsy fartsy husband feel manly and accomplished for me, all on his own. We stuck it right in front of a parking space. The neighbors still haven’t thanked me for their new view.
Strawberries are amazing. They are sweet and juicy, with a hint of tart every now and then. Mmm. Perfection. You know what else is perfect? Cookies! Chocolate ones to be exact. Chocolate Almond Butter ones to be even more exact. Chocolate Almond Butter Coconut ones to be exactly exact. More on that later!