She grabs my leg, telling me in no words at all, "Stop fidgeting your leg or I'll chop it off, drive into the Outback and force feed it down a dingo's throat!"
Then she flashes a look at me, the, "I'm not kidding." look.
And whether she notices it or not, there's a smile with that look. The "I love you, even if your fidgety leg makes me seasick" smile.
She asks me all the time, "Why do you love me?"
I give her the same answer every time. An answer she's never happy with.
It's not that it's not a good answer. It's just that it's an answer she doesn't understand.
So she asks for more reasons. And I offer them, a list as it were of all the things that I love about her.
And like Shakespeare, I can count the ways.
But unlike Shakespeare. I don't like to. Cause I have the perfect reason why I love this woman with every fibre of my being.
I love her cause of her. And all the little things that encompasses her. More things that I could ever say in a lifetime, but all things I could love in this one.
Don't tell her, though.
Cause she'll ask for another reason shortly after.