Romantic Things

Ronny Cammareri: I love you.

Loretta Castorini: [slaps him twice] Snap out of it!


I dated some romantic men, guys who put a lot of thought and effort into sweeping me off my feet, but I sure as hell didn’t marry one of them.

The flowers and gifts, soppy poetry and grand gestures were lost on me. I always thought there must be some ulterior motive lurking under all that fuss and bother and for the most part I didn’t really trust any of it.

That kind of attention is nice, but it also makes me nervous. What made you do this? What do you want in return? If you did something or gave me something that I don’t really like or appreciate, how hard do you want me to pretend that it’s lovely?

Give me sweet honesty instead and someone who knows how to do all the little things that add up to prove his commitment. A guy who wouldn’t recognize a romantic act if it bit him in the ass. There are thousands of ways to tell me I am captivating and that you absolutely adore me.

Take out the garbage. Cook something. Change the oil in my car. Pick up Chinese food. Say thank you. Put up the Christmas lights all by yourself. Empty the dishwasher. Work in the yard. Hand over the damn remote once in a while.

Share your day with me. And when I share mine with you, please know that I don’t expect you to solve my problems for me; all you have to do is sit there and listen. And not nod off.

Be sympathetic when I’m sad. Laugh with me when things are funny. Ask me what I think and consider my advice. Share stuff with me. Let me help.

I can’t remember the last time W. actually said the words “I love you”. But there’s another three little words he says to me all the time with a charming and amorous smile.

“Whatever you want.”

Equally beautiful, straight from the heart, and it means the exact same thing.

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