It’s the little things I appreciate.
The fact that he takes me in my favorite store and says to try on anything I want.
And then….he stands right by the changing room to wait and see how it looks. He doesn’t wander off so I have to go and find him and ask what he thinks. He doesn’t check his phone or look bored. He waits and offers his blunt opinion when I come out. Oohing and ahhing about how pretty he thinks I am, or kindly letting me know that it isn’t his favorite.
He knows I like watch necklaces and old books, and he buys my perfume called “sparrow” that smells like crushed lilacs.
We eat at a foreign crepe cafe and he pulls out my chair. He buys me almond joy coffee and asks if we can sit and just talk on a bench in a garden.
He goes in vintage stores with me. He listens to me ramble about people who have long passed away. He looks at me when I speak. He pulls open the door, guides my hand when I am about to trip or run into a crowd, encourages me to write my books, dream my obscure and crazy dreams and go wherever I want to travel. He always believes in my independence, but he never fails to protect my femininity.
Little things are sometimes the most important, and I am so thankful this Christmas for a best friend who puts the story books to shame.
