I want you.
I want beauty, elegance, class;
I want a wild, exciting, fun lover.
I want you to be able to pull off a pair of Manolos and a pair of Old Navy Flip Flops;
I want you to stun the crowd at the red carpet with an evening gown, and wow the park walkers in a t-shirt and jeans
I want you to turn heads, but not let it get to your head.
I want you to be ‘the mature one’ with a ‘kid trapped inside’, and you know when to let her out once in a while.
I want you to be a shopaholic with a conscience.
I want you to be confrontational without being hostile, direct yet subtle.
I want you to leave me guessing, if you know I will guess right.
I want you to be affectionate on the fourteenth of February, be proud on the second Sunday of May, and be mine on the night of my birthday.
Money doesn’t matter. Sure it does.
No, it really doesn’t.
I want you to connect with me intuitively. I want you to equal me in wit and humor
I want you to not steal the crowd away from me; we’ll take turns.
I want you to be Mother Teresa on foreign soil, Martin Luther King on the streets, and Pol Pot in the boardroom.
I want you to like Gershwin, Ella, Slim, BSB, SRV, Dark Side of the Moon, Justin, BB, Gaga, Toby, the King, Tiesto, the Fab Four, and the deaf guy. If you don’t like one of these artists, forget it.
I want you to be well-mannered at the dinner table, and be able to chug beers at the bar.
I want you to match me in alcohol tolerance. We’d save a lot of money that way.
I want perfection.